Someone Else’s Memoirs
by a certain slant of light
Summary: Their skin is sun-starved marble, streaked beneath the surface with pinstripes of raw red — carved by loss, honed by grief. But every vampire, new or old, heals eventually. ჯ JasperBella. post-eclipse AU.
1. but you say that you’re doing just fine

**Author's Note:** This is my first official bit of Jasper/Bella, and to say I slaved over it would be a scandalous understatement. So I really, really hope you enjoy it, and any comments would be so greatly appreciated! First part of my first response to the **twilightficmix** challenge I picked up. This is for the song "Molasses" from The Hush Sound's album "Goodbye Blues." A big round of applause to my betas: **interfection** and **sporkedd**! Also for the rain puddle prompt at **twiriginal**!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight. This applies to all current chapters.

_D__arkness, if you can hear me,  
I will try to draw you near me,  
But in the morning you will wake up alone._

_Oh, when your body breaks,  
Even the hummingbirds will feel the earthquake,  
You'll sing a song of your heart's complaint._  
"Molasses," The Hush Sound

* * *

Someone Else's Memoirs_  
i know it 'cause you wrote it down a hundred times, but you say that you're doing just fin__e_

* * *

_The fight begins today. I can almost smell her in the air, the way her hair burns away all the moisture around her. I'm not afraid as I should be… not for myself, anyway._

* * *

The earth beneath her feet didn't exist anymore. It all shifted, air moving around her in thick bubbles that shoved and squeezed. Nothing got into her lungs and nothing got out. Instead the scene in which she had been thrust (it felt almost like film now) stuttered, until the sun was out of view and everything faded to black.

He didn't bleed. He couldn't.

_No_ got caught in her throat. A scream scratched at the back of her teeth, ripping her gums open, tearing up her tongue. Her lips, so dry, stuck together as her cheeks grew wet.

It wasn't raining.

"Bella!" A different voice. A lag, an intonation that was the broad bowl to his fine stem.

She'd find out later he'd actually cried _Alice_.

* * *

_They took him away from me._

* * *

Six shadows circled, hunching in the rain, around twin slabs of stone. Droplets shimmered on the marble and cascaded down in crystal rivulets, over carvings of fairies and lions. One raindrop dipped into the darkened _E_, another balancing along an _A_, and others pooling at the bases of impossible numbers.

She fell to the ground, waiting for a wave of peace to smooth the corners of her shaking silhouette…. Waiting for a wave that never broke the shore.

* * *

_When we got back, no one said anything. They started speaking eventually – Emmett broke the silence after two days. I couldn't even bring myself to write, or care, really._

_He gave this to me before we left and made me promise to fill it up. At the time I thought it was weird and kind of stupid – there were more important things to worry about. Why would I need a diary? Now I get it. It was life insurance. He was telling me that no matter what happened to him, I had to write something down the next day. I had to live._

_I wish I could hate him for it. For making me wait to see him again. My writing's so small and the pages are so big._

* * *

The Cullen house felt bigger than ever before. The hallways went on forever, leading to empty rooms. She stayed in Alice's, hoping to fill some of the void left behind. His already felt full; when she thought of it, she pictured the grand window glassless and open, his ghost floating just beyond the fall and calling her to him. Bile rose in Bella's throat, tears in her eyes, but she swallowed both and closed the door behind her.

Emmett was in the living room, sprawled on the couch. He didn't have a book in his hands; the television was silent, a sheet of reflective black marble.

"Hi, Bella."

She ambled into the kitchen as if she hadn't heard him.

* * *

_It's unfair. I'm unfair. But I can't talk to Emmett, not right now. It's horrible to think, but he got to keep Rosalie. I know it hurts him to lose his brother and his sister… and I know I make it worse by not saying anything, but I can't help it. It's not the same. I think Jasper would understand. That's probably why he doesn't talk either._

* * *

Time passed, and it was neither quick nor slow. It barely passed at all. All Bella knew was that one day she woke up, looked at the calendar, and it had been two months.

The day was overcast, as usual. Astoria was a place of stagnancy – of mending, Carlisle said. But all Bella could feel in the air was the whisper of water and sorrow denser than fog.

"Thank you, dear," said Esme as they were cleaning the house. Bella had no homework anymore, and though she was human, she had no intention of attending university. Their house was a comfortable prison: she had no desire to leave, not even for a job. Without a job, she was without money, but that was fine as well – there wasn't anything she wanted to buy. Bella hungered for nothing these days.

It was clear that Esme hoped busywork would lift her spirits, or annoy her enough to want out. Bella admired her for it. Her caramel hair had darkened from being in the rain, her bright eyes lined a sad bronze. She looked paler, wedding band embossed on white marble. She was in pain, a mother having lost two of her children, but she smiled and uttered kind words for those that remained. The constant martyr.

Bella thought briefly of her own mother, the memory of her face split into a grin, her hair frenzied with humidity. It flickered out of existence just as quickly.

She nodded.

"Is there anything you'd like to do today?" asked Esme, damp cloth sweeping over lacquered wood. It shone brightly, offering reflections Bella didn't wish to see.

She shook her head.

"All right, then." Her words dipped imperceptibly, but Bella knew better. One grew used to the different tones of grief, especially when one was silent.

* * *

_There's never enough work to be done. These pages never fill, no matter how many days go by. I can't help it. Nothing happens. There's nothing to write down._

_I wonder if he knew it would be like this. He always was far more clever than me. Couldn't he have given me a post-it note instead?_

_Couldn't he have just…_

* * *

When they came, the wind didn't howl. The door didn't rattle on its hinges and a wolf did not sing mournfully to the full moon. The veil of darkness hadn't even fallen; it was broad daylight, and they arrived in cloaks of woven evening.

The Volturi.

Bella was wiping down the stainless steel refrigerator. Her mind wandered to every tiny, immaculate fingerprint. The dainty loops of Rosalie, the wide palm of Emmett. Esme's were the ridges wrapped around the handle, and Carlisle's the grooves along the door's edge. Hints and skitters caught smudged against the silver – those, she supposed, were Jasper's. They were like tiny strangers to her: she recognized them last because she didn't know them at all.

Emmett's rumbling snarl surprised her. It filled the living room and pushed its way into the kitchen, making her hands shake.

"They're here."

It was simultaneous: everyone was suddenly in the foyer, with her looking on from the open doorway. They stood like a choir of angels in a heavenly war – poised at the gates, waiting for the reapers. Carlisle's eyes ghosted over his wife, his children, and then Bella.

"Jasper." His voice was disconcertingly calm. Jasper nodded and then his cold fingers curled around her arm and pulled her away.

As she was led up the stairs, she heard the creak of the front door, the crinkle of an aged voice.

"Good to see you again, Carlisle."

Jasper said nothing.

* * *

_My mortality was nothing more than a bartering chip. I honestly... I didn't care. It would have made me just as frightened to be killed by the Volturi, which isn't very much. I don't get too scared anymore._

_But that would have been selfish. Eternal life is the last thing I want, but to hurt Esme and others like that... They've lost so much already, and because of me._

_Besides, I still have this damn diary. And now I have until the end of the world to fill it out. No more need to rush. No more light at the end of the tunnel._

* * *

They set up a nice room for her. The walls were bare, but they tried to add little touches of home: candles for pleasant scents, a comfortable couch, a rug. They didn't go to their usual monetary extent – they didn't need a bunch of fancy ribbons.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," said Carlisle. The eyes of Aro and Felix bored into his back; the excitement radiated off them in drumbeats. "I wish you had more time."

_I wish I had less._

She closed her eyes; the pain was abrupt. She'd expected it to start out slow, as an ache and then an itch. But it erupted, spidering through her veins like fiery frostwork. She hadn't felt Carlisle bite – not even the testing graze of his teeth. Then everything was in sync, the burning in her forearm and shoulder and chest and face and _oh my God._

Every inch of her skin itched, every pore struggling to sweat and failing. Her eyes sewed themselves shut, lashes like knives fluttering against the flesh of her face. Bella wrapped her hands around her body, made herself a straitjacket; her fingernails drew pretty red pictures all over her pale skin. Her senses exploded, her scream the soundtrack to her ending credits.

On the first day, she lost her voice.

On the second day, she lost her sleep.

On the third day, she lost her life.

* * *

_I don't want to remember it._

* * *

"Hello, Bella." Emmett's shoulders slumped, as did Rosalie's. Pairs of sharp, pale planes that said, _Nice to meet you, stranger._

"Emmett." Her voice was dry and cold, but the syllables rolled gratefully from between her teeth. How long had it been since she'd said his name? "Rosalie."

His arms encircled her with a generous lack of gentleness, and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. It was enough to break a tree in half, but it felt to her like a child's embrace. Then Rosalie held her briefly, eyes darting away, as if it hurt to look or touch what could have been a happy ending. Then Esme, then Carlisle, and they spoke words to substitute the tears none of them could cry.

Some of them shook and some of them stood stock still, not a quirk of the lips or fingers. The air hung silent, heavy; all the hairs on Bella's arms bristled. The room buzzed, anything but calm.

* * *

_They all visited me when I was turning. I remember it now. I opened my eyes every now and then, but the room was so bright I had to close them. There were shapes in the darkness – silhouettes. When I saw them again, I recognized them immediately. Rosalie is alpine, Emmett is sturdy, Carlisle is soft-edged and Esme always flows._

_But when Jasper casts a shadow on the floor, it disorients me. I don't think he ever came._

* * *

Emmett ran, heavy feet moving quickly. Twigs split under his weight, but by the time they made a sound, he and Bella were too far gone to hear it. She could see every flex of his muscles, every movement that had been but a blur to her human eyes. Now it was time that was slow, and they were simply faster. The world couldn't catch up.

Lace whispers of scent tickled her nose, pouring into her lungs and empty veins. They weren't how she imagined them to be. Instead of a constant mist, they were individual threads, each scent as distinct as a different color. They wove around the trees and through the bushes, growing tangled the closer she followed. Finally they knotted together, a dew-soaked maroon mass. A deer.

It was all instinct. Its black eyes were still lidded, unafraid and unaware of danger, when she snapped its neck and sunk her teeth into the furry mess of flesh. Like nectar, its blood pooled on her tongue and ran in waterfalls down her throat, trickling through the creases of her eager mouth.

"Calm down, Bella."

A snarl ravaged her lungs.

Nothing had ever tasted so good, so sweet. Not coppery, but like honey warmed in the sun, like melted sugar, like tree sap over snow, like…

But she knew, even as it ran over her chin and stained her clothing rust, that this was only second best.

* * *

_Everything smells good. Deer, bears… even a mouse I saw running through the kitchen. I almost got it, but Rosalie stopped me… and I didn't thank her. I want everything. My body itches from the inside and I_ need _everything. And even though we live so far from town…I can smell them._

_What would Esme think if she knew I finally wanted to leave the house?_

* * *

Saturday rolled by as all the other days did, but when evening rose, it changed. The usual mix of blood and damp bark parted, a new scent emerging. Burning wood, wildfires… bubbling, charred meat, the sickly thick drip of melting marshmallows. A bonfire. And then, the drug.

Esme, Emmett and Rosalie were hunting. Carlisle was in his study. They would smell it in moments, but moments were enough. Bella broke from the house and into the night. Rain splattered her in splinters, but she was dull to it as a windshield. The trees and leaves rushed by in a cinematic blur: she became the only foreground, the only sense against an abstract pattern of smudged shapes.

These threads were fatter, clotting closer and twisting in pretty patterns. They glowed, bright lights against the dull scents of deer and rabbits. Pretty, pretty threads, sewn immaculately, screaming to be ripped apart…

Then she flew backward, wind whistling through her ears as she landed flat on her back, staring up at the canopy of trees. Hands held her arms on either side, pushing down until her body made an indent in the earth.

"Bella, no."

She blinked, the indistinct silhouette lightening to her starry eyes. Unfamiliar blond hair, unforgettably golden eyes…

"Jasper," she gasped. She thought she'd accounted for all the others before she'd escaped… but she never saw him anymore. It was if he were a part of the house, always flitting from room to room like a shadow escaping the sun, forever in peripheral vision. She'd forgotten.

"They're human."

"I know." To her surprise, nothing built in her chest – no revulsion that someone denied her a need, no fury that they were trainers trying to talk culture into an animal. But then it could be the tranquility she felt in every pore, colder than the rain speckling her clothes.

"Do you want to murder them?" he asked.

"No," she said automatically. "I… I want to kill them."

"That would be fair," he said. She sucked in a breath to clear her head, to warm her thoughts, to make her angry. Instead she got a lungful of nothing. "Crowley did almost kill you, after all."

"Tyler Crowley?" The threads dimmed; she focused on the honey glow of Jasper's eyes. "That's…"

"Yes." His grip on her lessened slightly, testing. "I can understand if you'd want to kill him. Mike Newton, too. He is a pest, isn't he? And I know you don't like Lauren. The spite coming off her smells like a bad hangover."

Again, his fingers slackened; she felt the earth give a little under her body. "So go ahead. They have it coming."

Bella ripped her arms away, pushing him off and getting to her feet. "No! What is wrong with you?!"

The scents unraveled as she ran, the house looming into view. Her feet tracked damp footprints on the carpet. When she marched past the living room, she didn't miss the alarmed looks in their eyes. If it was because she was back, or because she was back spotless, not a speck of red on her, she wasn't certain.

* * *

_I wish I knew what Tyler and the others were doing out here. But they did always talk about the camping trips they'd go on after graduation. I do kind of remember Mike mentioning Oregon a few times on-shift. That could be it... Then again, it might not have really been them. I got so worked up, I didn't think he could have been lying._

_It doesn't matter. Even if they weren't my Tyler and Mike and Lauren, they were someone's. I wonder if I could have realized that on my own._

* * *

"Jasper."

The scents of vampires were harder to follow. They weren't solid and leading – instead, they were hazy wisps, like taillights in the dark. They faded almost as soon as they were out of sight. But his she remembered: it was sweet but subtle, like molasses.

He nodded, eyes drawn away from the book in his hands. She hadn't expected to find him in the room that would have been Alice's (he never touched her old room in Forks), so of course it was the first place she looked.

"Thank you," she said. "For last night. For stopping me." Bella breathed in through her nose, the moisture in the air helping her dry throat and tongue. "I didn't…. You were last person I would've thought to…. Well, I didn't think you cared."

Jasper tilted his head very slightly, a single strand of hair nudging out of place.

Sometimes it bothered her to notice little things like that. Insignificant facial cues and body language that humans didn't have to be burdened with. It was better not to know when someone was irritated or disappointed with you, but it glared at Bella in twitches of the eyebrow, in an invisible vein throbbing.

"I don't want you to make a mistake," he told her. "Alice would have done the same."

Her lips split open, air rushing in like water. Before that night, she hadn't heard him speak at all, much less Alice's name. Bella was still incapable of speaking _his_.

"R-right."

* * *

_It gets annoying, being this easy to read. I've never seen Emmett or Rosalie or Esme gasp. Not even Alice, when she was... It's a reflex I can't stop, like when I'm hunting and I just blank. Emmett has so much more control. I never thought I'd be jealous of him, but he never gets a spot of blood on his clothes. And he eats grizzlies!_

_At least I've got more to write. But I still don't think I've got much more to say._

* * *

Rosalie was a divine hunter, moving with the grace of a seductress and the intent of an assassin – her shoulders square, her jaw aquiline in the moonlight, and her eyes reflective pools of greedy gold-dust.

"Do you think Jasper would ever like to come with us?" Bella's question cracked out hoarsely in the silence.

Rosalie glared; the sound of hooves slicing through wet leaves grew fainter.

"Ask him yourself," she said, staring in the opposite direction of their once perfect prey. Now they had to follow a new sliver of twine through the labyrinth. "He won't talk to me."

"Me neither."

"Then why are we having this conversation?" Her snow-white nose twitched, nostrils flaring briefly. "Deer, one mile. Come on."

Bella trailed, too aware of her clumsy footsteps and heavy shoes, of the leaves in her muddy hair against the untarnished brass of Rosalie's locks. But her thoughts were focused on another shade of blond entirely.

* * *

_I'm getting sick of deer. The taste wears off and there aren't many different species in the woods by the house. Emmett says I should try expanding my palette, but I get dirty enough already. I don't especially want to roll around with a black bear._

_Carlisle told me there are more kinds of deer in the woods farther out, nearer to Olympia… back in Washington. Thankfully he ended the conversation there. I don't think I'm ready to go back... I don't want to make a mistake._

* * *

Some days, she just sat in front of the refrigerator and watched her muddled outline in the frosted steel. It was strange. It used to be stocked with any food she might desire (though she never had much of an appetite after the funeral). Now it was only another article in their museum of humanity, a prop on their quaint little set.

And she never had to clean it, because no one touched it at all. There was the occasional handprint – always Emmett's along the freezer's edge, and Rosalie's fingers splayed downward around the middle, and Bella didn't like to think what they were doing to get it that way. She just wiped it off with the hem of her shirt and resumed the practice of observing herself.

When the lights were dim, her shadow was just a darker pool of grey. When they were bright, she was a splotchy mixture of ivory whites and caramel browns. She couldn't see her eyes or her mouth or the slogan on her t-shirt, and that suited her fine. It was easier to grow accustomed to her new shape – taller, thinner bones, more oval face – in small bursts.

She showered in the dark so she didn't have to look in the mirror.

* * *

_When I touch my fingers to my face, it doesn't feel the same as when I touched him – cold. It's like touching snow with gloves on. You know it's supposed to be freezing, but you can't feel it – just distantly know what it's like._

* * *

"Are you going hunting?" she asked. The far-off grind of zipper-teeth echoed in the shell of her ear, tickling the tiny hairs. Then the rough shrug of a duffle, Rosalie's soft chuckle, Emmett's heady murmur of something not meant for Bella's too-active senses. She cleared her throat loudly, concentrating on the sound of Jasper's unnecessary breathing.

"I went yesterday."

Had he been out of the house? Had he been _in_ the house? His scent lingered everywhere, which made him difficult to pinpoint.

"Oh."

"You're not going either, though."

"No."

His eyebrows rose in a frown. "Then why are you asking?"

"I was curious..." The truth. It was all she could ever give to Jasper, try as she might to do otherwise. To Esme and Carlisle she said, _Yes, I'm fine_. To Emmett she said, _I'll join in the next game, promise_. To Rosalie she said, _I'm sorry_. But Jasper didn't expect her to lie. Jasper knew too well what it was when she did. (To everyone he said _nothing_.) "… About what you hunt."

He glanced back down at the book and his eyes stayed there. "It all tastes the same to me."

She stared for so long she swore she could see the words on the page reflected in his eyes, but he didn't look up. It read in clearer print than her messy diary: _to the end of reckoning._

* * *

_Everyone has a preference. Emmett likes grizzlies, Esme likes rabbits. He liked mountain lions and she liked foxes. I know I should try other things, but I can't bring myself to. Maybe if I get used to deer, that'll be my reality, and I won't want anything else._

_I don't believe Jasper when he says he doesn't like anything more than another, but I don't want to ask him about it again. I'm a bit afraid of the real answer._

* * *

His hand wrapped around her arm, his fingers like vines. She had always thought of Emmett as a great tree: natural, implacable, wise in a very ignorant way. "Uh-uh, Bella. No deer today."

"It's all I want."

"Liar," he said, and steered her away from the familiar maroon threads that led to a mother and her fawns.

They followed the brilliant sunshine-yellow trail of something else, something she couldn't place. Her mind switched absently to a slideshow of countless brown bodies, sightless eyes open and tongs lolling onto the earth.

The scent coiled into her nose as they neared it. It was fresh, invigorating… succulent. Bella's body moved forward, becoming the predator: her feet landed feather light on the crackle-snap earth, her fingers flexing, nails sharp and shred-ready.

"What is it?" she asked hungrily, feeling her tongue slick with venom.

"You'll like it. All newborns do." After a moment, he added gruffly, "Some more than others."

It filled the shadow of a puddle then, golden body gleaming with the liquid way it moved. Its eyes were sharp and burgundy, its nose rosy pink, its teeth pearl-armored soldiers bared at the trespassers.

Bella froze; the predator inside her was unafraid, but limited by its host's weak, stupid heart.

The mountain lion growled again.

"Bella?"

Her eyes narrowed to watery slits. She severed each word from her tongue and spat them at him: "I. Don't. Want. It."

Then she ran. Away, away from the yellow and toward the comforting dull brown of scratchy hooves and flat teeth. No more gold, too much gold. Emmett followed, silent as a shadow, and watched patiently as she slaughtered an entire family of deer. Bella never spilled a drop.

* * *

_I don't want to go hunting with Emmett anymore._

* * *

When Bella walked into the house, clean as fresh linen, the air became stiff. Rosalie moved into the kitchen and Emmett joined her when he stepped in. Esme rose carefully from her spot before the television, muting the newscaster – and Jasper placed a placating hand on her shoulder, calmly gesturing for her to sit back down.

Bella stalked up the stairs and to her room. There was no translucent wall in their Astoria house, for which she was grateful. She glared into the glassless frames of art and bit her tongue and screamed into her fist and threw her tattered old _Wuthering Heights_ at the darkly veiled window. She made her steps heavy and her rage quiet and broke ink pens over her favorite Austens, until the _loves_ and the _Fitzwilliam Darcies_ didn't dare peek out from behind her black teardrops.

Time ticked, paper paled and finally she stopped, a fountain pen held precariously over _Jane Eyre_. Her black blood soaked fingers trembled… and then a stillness filled them, so comfortable, so believable, that for a moment Bella thought she might actually cry. Instead, she stared at her closed door, waiting for the moment it would go away.

It never did.

* * *

_Carlisle makes pleasant conversation all the time, talks about the news like it concerns us, or how the Denali are doing (they've started talking to us again. I don't think that doesn't mean they don't blame us for Kate, though). Esme wonders how my day was and if I'm all right, and sometimes she makes jokes about preparing dinner (they can be so funny I almost laugh). Rosalie… she flips through bridal magazines mostly, and asks me what colors I like best, and what sash I want for my bridesmaid dress (I want to tell her to pick whatever Alice would have liked – she always knew a lot more about fashion and…). Emmett speaks the most, about anything that pops into his head, about human food, about football, about jaywalkers, about crime scene investigation shows (his favorite thing to do these days is play with a pair of sunglasses, taking them off and putting them on whenever he has something dramatic to say)._

_Jasper comments on the weather and tells us when he's going hunting. He's more silent than Rosalie, but…I get the feeling he's actually saying a lot, just not in words._

_That sounds stupid, so I kind of get it. Talking can be overrated._

* * *

"She hasn't gotten any better," Emmett's voice filtered through the white noise of the wind whistling and a squirrel chattering on the roof. Bella's eyes lost focus on the words _Tell-Tale Heart_, her hearing quickly compensating for the sudden nap her vision was taking.

"You haven't been looking hard enough," Rosalie answered. A page whispered as it flipped.

"I took her to a mountain lion the other day." A pause. A page. "Stupidest thing I ever did."

"It wasn't your fault."

"It was."

"I know. I was lying."

Emmett chuckled bitterly. "I should let you do that more often."

"It's good that you don't." Bella could hear the smile in Rosalie's words, and just as easily heard it fade. "She was going to cross one sooner or later."

"But I _took_ her to it."

"That's better. I would have if you hadn't."

"Now you're lying."

"Let me finish. I would have _eventually_."

Bella half wished her heart were capable of hammering against her chest, as if to confirm what it was she was hearing. She was also half grateful it couldn't, so it didn't drown out the words with its pesky _thump-thump_.

"How do you always distract me?" Bella assumed that in this pause Rosalie grinned her lovely grin and shrugged closer to him. "I was saying: she hasn't gotten any better."

"And I was saying you haven't been looking hard enough. Rewind successful. Press play."

On a sneer, he said, "If I haven't been looking, then I've been listening. I'm listening now. You want to enlighten me?"

"Are we watching with subtitles now?"

"Rose."

A sigh. "If I do tell you, will you make up your mind on a color scheme for the wedding?"

"Fine."

"Jasper," she said, half decisive and half flippant.

Bella's ears itched in the long span of silence. Then, finally, "I like the blue and cream."

* * *

_I thought the feeling of always being the last to know would go away once I became a vampire. It got worse instead, because now I always know when I'm the last to know. I wish it wouldn't bother me... I'm fairly sure it didn't before. But Emmett's smiling more, Rosalie's smiling more, Carlisle, Esme... It's starting to freak me out a bit._

_Rosalie has the wedding pegged for next June. They're going to have it in Canada, near Vancouver Island. She's the least spastic bride I've ever seen, but I guess when you've gotten married as many times as she has, you've seen everything._

_From what I've heard, everyone has their usual roles: Carlisle's walking her down the aisle, Esme's the maid of honor, and Jasper is the best man. No one has mentioned the ring-bearer yet._

* * *

She was vaguely aware of the outside world at most, if not all, times. The drone of the newscast stuck in a distant curve of her mind, long after the television was switched off. The newspaper lay open across the dining room table every evening (it spent the first few hours in Carlisle's study, and sometimes came out missing bits and pieces).

In the time she'd been gone (six months and twenty-eight days, according to the tiny, slightly smudged print), three murders had been committed in the Washington area. One happened on Quileute land, the torn body of Samantha Adams found clean and neat in her bed. Police said that she had most likely snuck out in the night and was attacked by wolves, while community members argued that wolves couldn't dress a girl up and return her home. The family was in mourning, and the girl's boyfriend reportedly refused to talk to anyone, much less journalists.

_Oh, Paul,_ mourned Bella's icebox heart.

Other than that, life passed in a normal, mortal way. A tremor rocked California and a series of robberies seemed linked to a pawnshop in Seattle. An honors student almost killed four of his friends driving drunk, and a woman named Nora won the regional senior bingo championship. All headlines that would cease to matter in the following days of her life, the years, the decades, the centuries.

"Nothing changes," he muttered, so softly as he passed. She hadn't even known he was in the room, and then he was out of it.

Bella folded the paper and tossed it in the recycling bin, ready to be made into new headlines.

* * *

_Sometimes, especially when Esme's got a talk show on that she's not really watching, I think of Renée and I wonder how she's doing. Nothing major has happened in Florida – Disney World had to shut down for a day because someone almost lost their arm on Splash Mountain. Other than that, nothing. I keep waiting for the day her face shows up on the T.V. beside the caption "Eclectic Woman Breaks World Record For Most Casual Hobbies."_

_I keep waiting for her face to show up anywhere. _

* * *

Rosalie moved behind her, a snowflake for all the impact she made on Bella's senses. Bella took a deep breath, holding it in for moments and moments on end, letting it leak out through her white-line lips. Then she closed her eyes and felt the wind rush by.

It smelled scarlet and writhed wildly in her stone fingers. The spine was bent in an unusual way, very unlike a deer – but it snapped like a stalk of wheat. Then, with the scent in her nose, she dug her teeth into the paper-thin skin.

Her tongue blazed sour then sweet. The blood was thicker, hotter, redder. Bella drank and drank and drank, her throat singing with venom, until her lips were pink and her cheeks were flush. Her prey ran dry, like air was whistling through vacant veins.

Bella's teeth released the cushion of flesh and she stood. Her eyes fluttered open, the world already in perfect focus.

The empty lynx stared ahead.

"Your first cat, Bella." _Well done._

* * *

_Emmett told me today around dinner (that's still when it is, even if we don't eat) that the next time I go out, I should bring him back some bobcat. I couldn't tell if it was his way of apologizing, or his way of saying "I told you so." Probably both._

_I didn't laugh, but I nudged him a little with my shoulder when I left the room. Esme told me later that I should have seen the way he lit up._

* * *

The off-grey sunlight peeking through her closed blinds told her it was morning. It became obvious by a bird chirping some twenty yards or so off, the thud of the newspaper hitting the front door… then the unexpected gnash of gravel and broken wheel spoke squeals.

It hit her like a fist to the face: a brilliant ribbon of white fire, leading straight out her door. She wrenched it from the jamb, irises darkening to black moons. Three steps, two steps, the door, the door, the ribbon, the door, the _blood, the_ –

Her back was pressed to the wall, steady hands on her wrists, stone chest keeping her still. At the base of the stairs, the door creaked open; the beautiful scent bloomed, and she struggled, struggled.

"Oh dear. Did you have an accident?"

Salt and water and – "I h-hit a rock. My bike's broken. Could I c-call my mom?"

"Why don't you let my husband take a look at your arm first? He's a doctor."

"My… My m-mom will be worried about where I am."

"You can call her while he stitches you up – Oh! Don't make that face. It really doesn't hurt at all. You're not the first paperboy to crash his bike."

The smile in Esme's voice only made Bella angrier, and she thrashed.

"Bella." How many times had he said her name? She caught the tail-end of the word, latching onto it like her nails longed to latch onto whoever was holding her down. "Bella."

"I want it," she hissed. "I need it!"

"Bella." His voice was even. Then his hand grabbed hers, a cold she could feel, and twisted it between her face and his. She spied him through her curled fingers: Jasper's eyes bore into hers, gold reflecting coal. "Look at this."

She growled. "Jasper…"

_"Look at this."_ The blood called, the boy's frail voice was taunting, but she looked anyway. Staring back at her was the crescent of raised flesh, taut at the edges and pale.

Her struggling quieted, her shoulders still against the wall. "James did that."

"Do you think _he_ needed it?"

The throbbing in her throat became a resigned hum. "Jasper. You're always stopping me –"

A fresh blush of blood, the threads twining into a lovely, lovely tapestry just two steps away, and she jerked against his hands again.

"Michael, is it?" asked Carlisle, and though his voice was calm to any human, to Bella it was, frustrated, frightened. "Please stay still. It's important we close this up – now I'm going to have to re-do those stitches. Esme, have you gotten a hold of Michael's mother yet?"

"Bella!" Jasper's voice sliced through the petty conversation, the planning, the denial. "Look at –"

"NO!" She broke for half a second before his arms closed around her and pulled her away, farther down the hall and into Emmett's empty room. The door slammed noiselessly behind them.

"Bella, no." The words, so similar to the first he'd spoken to her in months, made her muscles stiffen. She was without protest as he brought them to the corner of the room – the furthest in the house, directly against the southern wall. As much distance as they could put between Bella and the clumsy blood.

"Don't let go of me," she managed, while images of dead lynxes flashed through her mind, their bright scarlet signatures fading in the wake of Michael's vibrant silver. "I don't want to…"

"I know."

Carlisle and Esme's voices were muffled, Michael's a weak whine. Then came the stereo growl of the telephone speaker, and the salt sounded again, and Esme assured Michael's mother that they'd drive him home, good as new. Finally the door closed, a stifling echo in their shaded little corner.

"I'll follow them," Bella told him. "I can feel it in my chest."

Jasper nodded, lips ghosting lightly over her hair as he spoke. "Am I hurting you?"

Her ribs ached, her lungs wanting to expand out of habit and straining to do so. "Yes."

The circle of his arms didn't shift or slacken. "Sorry."

"Yeah. Me too."

The silence stretched as the silver gradually dimmed to grey, then evaporated into pale wisps and slithered away like smoke. She supposed he could feel her body relax, the monster having slunk back to its cave; Jasper let her go, and she turned to face him.

With clear eyes, it was easier to look at him. "Thank you, again."

"Don't," he said plainly. "I'm only –"

Quiet, quiet thuds, and the door swung listlessly open.

"Whoa." At Emmett's voice, both Bella and Jasper stepped away from each other. "What did I miss?"

* * *

_Emmett didn't tease me about the Jasper thing. In fact, he didn't bring it up at all, which kind of scares me. This seems like the sort of thing he doesn't let go – endless teasing material. I've been listening, but he hasn't told Rosalie about it. I wish I could thank him, but I'd rather just follow his lead and try to pretend the whole thing never happened. After all, that's worked so well for me in the past._

* * *

Carlisle nudged the door open with his shoulder, crossing the threshold gracefully despite the cumbersome box in his arms.

"That looks heavy," remarked Esme.

"Looks," smiled Carlisle. When the door was closed, he gave up the act and held it easily under one arm. "Feels heavy as a tissue box."

Bella, who had been eying the refrigerator door, edged closer to read the writing obscured by reflective gloss. "A computer?"

"We thought you might like one," he said.

"We also thought we'd give it to you for your birthday, but that's so far off. Consider it an early present." Esme's fingers intertwined with Carlisle's, her face pleasant and hopeful.

"I… don't know what to say." And she didn't. She'd entirely forgotten about her birthday – the last one had already passed, she realized now. "Thank you."

"We have no one to talk to outside our family." Carlisle's hand broke from Esme's as he began up the stairs. "But you might like to speak to your friends."

As he disappeared, she added, "We thought before might have been too early. I hope you'll use it? But I understand if you don't." Something in the way her eyes dimmed made Bella think she might just.

"Of course I will."

It was much quicker than her old computer, the swiftly flashing advertisements making her eyes spin. But they were bound to the edges of web pages, sewn into the tops and bottoms – never once cropping up unexpectedly. It felt odd not to be on constant manual pop-up blocker duty.

The LCD was obscenely bright, each pixel keening for attention. Bella squinted, at once understanding why she never saw any of the Cullens using a computer, even for homework.

When she opened her email (it took her a moment to remember the password), her bloodless face might have blanched. Rows upon rows upon rows of foul junk, of grocery coupon offers, of exotic vacation packages. And between those was line after line of Renée Dwyer.

_Bella, honey, I heard about your boyfriend. I hope you're okay._

_Bella? I know you're going through a tough time, but I'd really like it if you could email me back. Maybe even give me a call? You can talk to me about anything, I promise._

_Honey, I haven't heard from you in weeks. Please, maybe talking about it will help._

_Isabella, do you want me to die too? Because you're killing me with worry over here._

_Sorry about that last email. I wasn't being fair. Please don't be…_

_… send me a message…_

_… just one or two words, even._

_I went down to Forks. Charlie's scared to death. Where are…_

_Isabella Swan!_

Bella's fingers shook over the smooth mouse, repeated words screaming holes into her head. _Worried. Bella. Honey. Please._

When she got to Renée's last message, sent only eight days ago, she watched the cursor stutter over the reply button. The click echoed in her head for what seemed like ages. The blank white page burned into her eyes as she stared, waiting for the words to write themselves. Finally, her fingers flew over the alien keyboard.

_Mom. I'm sorry I worried you. I'm okay. Bella._

A pause…. The computer clock went from forty-three to fifty-four.

_P.S. I'll write again. Love you._

Send.

* * *

_Renée wrote back not three hours after I sent the email. I spent the whole time pacing, wondering if I'd done the right thing. Maybe it's better she thinks I'm dead. But…she sounded so relieved, even in a tiny little font. So happy._

_She asked me where I was, what I was doing, if I'd changed my email address, what my phone number was (cell and home), what airport was closest, if I was working and what weekend I could take off, what my bank account was so she could wire me money to fly to Florida…_

_I haven't written back yet._

* * *

"Talked to your mother?" asked Jasper. She was searching the library for a book to read (non-fiction: no princes and no pixies). He shimmied an old biography onto the shelf and plucked a collection of Frost poems from its perch.

"Yeah," she said. "About as much as you talk to yours."

The corner of his lips twitched – upward or downward, she couldn't tell. In the sliver of a second it was gone, as was he.

* * *

_Emmett bumped into me on the way down the stairs, thieving my book away. His hands are surprisingly nimble. He looked skeptical about my choice._

"Brave New World?"_ he'd asked. "We have less depressing stuff, you know. _Like Gone With the Wind_."_

_I just shrugged and grabbed it back. I really don't see how _Gone With the Wind_ is less depressing._

* * *

While Carlisle was away at a medical conference, Esme decided it was time for spring cleaning (in the middle of December). Bella knew this was one of the things Esme did to preserve her own humanity, in the way Emmett watched college football and Rosalie bought make-up to add shine to an already perfect face.

"Rosalie and Emmett are making a run to the landfill," she said, organizing neon bottles under the sink. Aquamarines and lime greens stung Bella's nose with their chemical songs; Esme wasn't breathing. "They're coming back for a few things. I left a list on the freezer in the garage. If you and Jasper could quickly…"

"I've got it," Bella told her, eager for any excuse the escape the sharp, intoxicating reek.

Their garage was graciously large. It rose in a stone square many feet apart, affording room for Carlisle's Mercedes (its spot dark and vacant), Rosalie's gleaming BMW, and the large empty space that Emmett's Wrangler usually occupied. Shelves towered neatly, stocked with tools and other odds and ends. A freezer huddled mostly untouched in the corner, the contents of which Bella could smell from afar. Deer and grizzly.

Jasper had the list in his hands, a shadow cast over his face as he read it. He looked up upon her arrival. "They'll be back soon, then Emmett can organize everything into the jeep. You take the bikes, I'll get the old table set."

His gaze flickered behind her, and then he went to a stack of fine-looking chairs.

She followed where he'd glanced. Unbelievable. There, crouching in the wall's shadow, was Bella's ancient motorbike… and _his_ as well. A helmet hung on the handles of hers, red shell shining through a thin layer of dust – completely juxtaposed against the half-flat wheels and rusted mudguards. On its other side was one of a newer make, draped in brilliant black and steel.

"We're getting rid of the bikes?" Her voice was hoarse as pieces of the past flashed through her head: her hair whipping her face, stinging her eyes; the wind stabbing into her lungs like a battering ram; defying logic and reason and gravity, all for a whisper of the impossible.

"They're on the list."

"Can't we keep them?" When Bella turned, he'd already lined up the set of dining chairs and the mahogany table. She braced her shoulders and feet, palms out, as if protecting the motorbikes.

"What for?"

"Riding," she said, and surprised herself. She was one of their kind now – she could run faster than her bike could go on nitro. But it wasn't the same: running was fluid, natural – the roar of a metal monster beneath her, tires shredding the earth, was reckless and violent. She missed it.

"I suppose, if you'd like to. Will you need two, though?" He stepped toward her, eying the brighter bike.

"Well, not me, but I don't like riding alone." She retreated instinctively, palm sliding over the grainy seat. Her eyes fell downward, watching the rough texture under her smooth fingers.

"Rosalie only likes cars," he told her, "and Emmett rarely drives anything but his jeep. Unless you know someone in Astoria –"

"How about you?" she asked abruptly. The back of her throat suddenly itched, her ears tuning into tiny sounds – internal cues were the only marks of her embarrassment now. "He was going to give you the bike, after all. He said you wanted to learn."

"From Alice."

She looked up, but stopped her lips from parting, the air from rushing in. "Right. Okay. Sorry."

The jaws of the garage yawned open, revealing the immaculate cutout shadows of Emmett and Rosalie, the Wrangler glowing behind them in the hazy sun.

"Next load!"

* * *

_It was stupid. I probably wouldn't even like riding anymore. It probably doesn't feel the same without the risk of going to the emergency room after every wrong turn._

* * *

Rosalie shrugged into an unremarkable blue shirt as she stepped into the living room. Bella was lying on the couch, playing with the television remote: the volume was at its lowest setting and she didn't even have to lean forward to hear every word crisply.

"Hunting," said Rosalie, as though she were clocking in for a job she'd lost interest in months ago. "East or west forest tonight?"

"I'm not hungry," muttered Bella, watching the game show host's lips with the volume on mute, and still able to comprehend each syllable.

Rosalie, fingers tangled in her hair, elastic poised to ensnare it, froze. "Pardon?"

Bella looked up, aware of the sudden stiffness in the air, hearing her answer as it reverberated off the walls. "Oh. I didn't realize…. I'm telling the truth, though. I'm really not hungry."

"But you last went hunting three days ago."

"I know. I'm not lying, Rosalie. Look at my eyes. Are they black?"

She approached as if Bella were a danger – no, as if she were a miracle Rosalie didn't believe in. She scrutinized Bella's eyes a moment, her inkblot pupils still. Finally, her lips curled into a curious, reluctant frown.

"No. They're a bit darker around the edges, but you've got at least another day before you need to feed."

Bella nodded, unsure how she felt in this knowledge. Splashes of color annoyed her peripheral vision, so she turned the television off and watched Rosalie. Waited. "Okay then."

Rosalie eyed her a moment longer, then began fiddling with the buttons of her hunting shirt. "Mm-hmm."

* * *

_I'm thinking of borrowing one of Carlisle's books on sign language. That sounds like a good first thing to learn. I wonder if Renée would be any less upset with me if I apologized with my hands? That might just make her angrier – but I can imagine the look on her face._

_Or maybe I'll pick up something completely different. I think Jasper knows Lithuanian. At least it would get him talking._

* * *

Rosalie was sadly mistaken about an entire day of freedom. By the time Esme's grandfather clock tolled eight the next night, the mild colors in the house were too loud for Bella to handle. She clutched at the sides of her waist, knuckles white, nails dipping into the fabric of her shirt.

She supposed Jasper sensed her unease; the door to Emmett's room, where she was hiding, opened quietly and a pillar of light spilled across the floor.

"Bella?"

"Thought I'd be good until tomorrow," she grunted. As did the others, or they wouldn't have left her alone. "Didn't know you were home."

"I had some business in town. I just got in." Before she could protest, he pulled his shirt over his head – too nice to hunt in – and guided her to her feet. "Let's go."

She let her arms fall to her sides, lax with the peace that permeated her bones. He led her as far as outside – then she took the reins, breezing westward through the securely embracing trees.

Maroon trails blazed left and right, some in pairs and some singular. She ignored them, following her favorite scarlet as the hunger made her stomach clench tighter, tighter. There it was, sniffing out a rabbit's hole (pale blue threads wove into it). Bella sprung at the lynx, her thirst so wild that she bit before she snapped.

It rounded on her and raked its dagger-like claws across her face, catching her in the eye. She screamed, taking hold of its head and twisting. The spine cracked, discs grinding, and its skull caved clumsily under her harsh fingertips.

"Bella, your eye."

She ignored him, all but inhaling her prey's blood. It was her first mess in a long time, for a newborn. When she was done, she unfolded her hunched body, the carcass an indecipherable lump of shredded skin at her feet.

Awareness seeped back into her, bits of humanity. She looked at Jasper wonderingly – he seemed flat against the endless expanse of trees. When he stepped forward, her equilibrium shifted, a strange bubble making her stomach spin.

"It's not too bad," he said, stony fingers gentle over the flesh of her cheek, the arc of her eyebrow. "Newborn eyes are a vital weak-point – that's why you always snap the neck first, Bella, then bite. But it should heal." The pad of his fingertip over her eyelid, closing it. "Can you feel that?"

With half her vision gone, her senses realigned themselves accordingly: sounds from miles off became a pretty hum; the slight weight of dew in her clothes felt heavier. In her good eye, the moonlight cast everything in a vaguely three-dimensional painting, including Jasper. It cascaded over his brilliant hair and scarred shoulders, brightening the white wife-beater he'd left the house in.

"Can you feel that?" he asked again, palm resting on her cheek.

She swallowed laboriously. Traces of blood fell down her throat, sharpening her attention. "Yes."

"Hmm." Then he looked in her good eye, and his face shifted into something she hadn't seen before, something she couldn't place. Simultaneously, it fell back into clinical concern and his hand fell to his side. "We can keep hunting, if you like. But that lynx should tide you over until tomorrow, and your vision will be better then."

"Sure," she said, looking toward the direction they'd come in. "Tomorrow."


	2. today there is a cold moon rising

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews and feedback! I'm so proud to present chapter two!

_D__arkness, if you can hear me,  
I will try to draw you near me,  
But in the morning you will wake up alone._

_Oh, when your body breaks,  
Even the hummingbirds will feel the earthquake,  
You'll sing a song of your heart's complaint._  
"Molasses," The Hush Sound

* * *

Someone Else's Memoirs_  
__say there's something better, but today there is a cold moon rising_

* * *

_I owe a lot to Jasper. Well, to everyone of course. But Jasper always seems to be there at the right time. When Tyler was camping. When the paperboy cut himself on the gravel. And last night, when I was so hungry. I couldn't go out on my own – when I'm hunting, I don't know when to stop. I think I'm getting better, but what if someone had been out there? A hiker? A climber? One little wound, even scabbed over…_

It makes me feel sick, knowing I turn into this whole other… thing, something where peoples' lives don't matter to me. I was so sure I'd never have to worry about that... That I was good, through and through, and stubborn enough to make it on my own.

Sometimes I'm glad he's not here to see me struggle.

* * *

Her eye would heal in a few days, and in the time between she adopted an eye-patch (much to Emmett's amusement). Carlisle explained to her as he shone a light into the sightless depth: "Newborns are more vulnerable than aged vampires. When you get older, a lynx won't leave a mark. It's a trade-off, you could say: newborns are easily injured, but heal much quicker. If something should happen to me, I'd invariably regenerate, but it could take months. All things considered, you're very lucky. And thank you, Bella. I've missed having you as my patient."

Reading was disconcerting with only one eye, and it became hard to follow newscasters' lips, so she idled the minutes away in the garage. Her silhouette curved a darker red against the helmet she'd never have to use. It surprised her that the bikes hadn't been taken away – both still leaned against the wall obediently. Had Emmett simply forgotten them, had Rosalie wanted them for parts, or had it been something else entirely?

Her answer came in through the side door with the squeaky twist of the doorknob. It was the only sound he made: Jasper treaded light as air, and the door squealed shut behind him.

"How is your eye?"

"According to Emmett, it's _arr_mazing."

His eyebrows rose quizzically – it was the closest she'd ever seen him come to amusement. It only lasted a moment, but it was burned into her mind like an afterimage.

Finally, she managed, rushing, "Then he asked me if Carlisle used rubbing alcohol, and I said yes, and he asked what kind, and a rum joke followed. He also wants me to introduce him to Keira Knightley."

Jasper snorted. "Rosalie must be impressed."

"She was. Especially when Emmett took it a bit too far and called her wench." The air smelled different then – like buzzing Christmas lights and lasagna dinners. Like Forks.

Then he shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders squared, and it was damp Astoria again. "I wanted to apologize for my rudeness the other day."

"Hmm?" Her fingers traced absent loops on the helmet.

"Concerning the bikes. I didn't mean to…. You were dejected after. I'd hurt your feelings. I'm sorry."

Her eyes widened. In all this time, she almost forgot about his power – not just that he could create emotions in others, but feel theirs as well. Her embarrassment must have been like a flashing siren. "N-no, that's okay. I shouldn't have said anything."

"I was crass," he continued, as if he hadn't heard her – but the way he looked at her, it was clear he had. "I forget that holding onto these things doesn't help. Keeping little, scattered pieces of her… but never enough to form the whole puzzle."

Bella's tongue felt dry, her hands running colder, her eyes itching. "Y-yeah. I know what you mean."

He hadn't spoken this way to her in what felt like years… perhaps ever. His words lingered in the air, connotations dripping onto the cement at their feet, mingling with their crisscrossed shadows. Then his grew nearer, stretching under the fluorescent light as he approached the bikes.

"That's something I learned a long time ago, though." His hand was ivory white over the sleek jet exoskeleton. "I think I'd like to learn something new."

It took her a moment to catch up, to draw her eyes away from how his fingers slid along the bike's hide like glass, like art. She blinked her good eye, trying to draw sense into herself.

"You want to ride?"

The slightest smile crossed his lips – and stayed. "If you'd be so kind as to teach me."

Bella nodded stiffly, hands still over the helmet. He dipped his head in return, thanked her, and said he was due for a rendezvous with Dostoevsky.

The helmet slid from under her fingers and clattered onto the floor, scratches marring its smooth surface. She gasped, and realized it was the first air she'd breathed since he'd raised his eyebrows. Bella shook her head, the clang ringing in her ears, Jasper's distant smile in her head.

* * *

_I don't know what to make of Jasper. Carlisle's very straightforward, Esme wears her heart on her sleeve, Emmett doesn't believe in hiding anything, and Rosalie's private thoughts are best kept that way. If there's anything any of them aren't telling me, it's more than likely I don't want to know. But Jasper comes straight out of left field sometimes, and it's hard to keep my jaw from dropping._

He either does it on purpose, to shock me (which I doubt), or he just does it… which makes him very mean or, more likely, very brave.

* * *

Bella browsed web pages quicker than she ever had before. With her new abilities and reflexes, she read much faster – which was convenient in cases like these, but it made it difficult to enjoy a good book. Somewhere in her mass of clicking, she opened her singular bookmark. It took her straight to an inbox filled with Renée's name – it now completely blocked out the junk mail.

She paused in her searching, then clicked all the other tabs closed. Renée's most recent letter was strangely long: four blocks of neatly arranged text.

_Dear Bella,_

It's been a while since your email, and I know I've said this before, but I'm so happy to know you're out there. I'll keep sending mail, so you'll know I'm always on my end. I'll keep waiting for a reply.

The first block talked about Phil and the fight they had, the second about Renée's recently acquired ability to see auras, the third about a film she watched in which the only remarkable thing was George Clooney's chest, and the fourth…

_I printed out your email and sent it to Charlie. He told me on the phone that he went straight out and bought a computer. Apparently he drove Jacob Black crazy, making him teach him how to use it. Anyway, he said he'd email you, but if he hasn't... Well, don't blame him, honey. He's not sure how to take your disappearance. He thinks it's his fault. So since he's probably been too nervous to send a line your way, I've included his email address at the bottom. Please send him your love. Even if he gets angry, just remember: he's really a big, stubborn teddy bear on the inside._

Love, Mom & Phil

Bella read patiently through her mother's other letters, all of which began and ended the exact same way – as if she didn't think Bella would read them all. She waded through fourteen emails before words began to repeat themselves from the last time she'd logged on – all from Renée.

Hesitantly, she opened a new message and pasted in Charlie's address. She typed just her name in the subject line (first Isabella, then Bella, then Bells), and clicked the tab button. The cursor blinked, waiting.

_Dad,_

I'm really sorry to have worried you. And I'm sorry about moving out so suddenly. It... Things were complicated. They're still complicated. But I'm doing all right where I am, and I'll come to visit you soon.

Bella paused, then backspaced.

_… and you'll see me again. I understand if you're angry with me, but I do miss you. A lot._

Love,  
Bella

* * *

_Charlie still hasn't written me back, but I'm not surprised. I don't know if he could write a whole email himself without Jacob looking over his shoulder, coaching him. I wondered if I should say something to Jake in the email, but… I don't know if he'd want to hear from me. By now, I'm sure he knows what I am. And it's been so long, I might not know what he is._

* * *

It felt good to talk about something familiar, something she knew. After brushing up on the technical language (many thanks to her new computer), she been dreading her and Jasper's first ride much less. She never realized when she was human, but she knew a lot more about bikes than she thought she did.

Meanwhile, Jasper nodded, hair tousled by the wind. Neither had helmets or riding jackets: he had on the same white wife-beater he'd taken her hunting in, and she wore a plain black t-shirt. It was strange, however, to see Jasper in jeans – not unpleasant, but certainly unfamiliar.

She gestured to the different spirals and rods of metal. Her new memory was a valuable asset: she pointed out every part with flawless conviction. Kick stand, exhaust pipe, gas tank, disc brake, shock absorber. They rolled off her tongue like her own language.

"That's the boring part," she said, confident he'd remember everything as clearly as she did. "Now you can actually get on the bike."

She swung her leg over the seat and planted her feet on the ground, and he did the same. With her fingers poised on the handles, she asked, "Do you want to know everything, or just straight lines for now?"

"Straight lines should do. No need to rush."

She felt the hint of a smile at that. "All right. It's fairly straightforward, if you'll excuse the expression. Your bike is automatic, so you won't have to worry about gears like I do." She kicked the bike to life. The well-ridden pathway spread wide before them, curving at the end. "Go at a comfortable speed, brake when you get to the end. Don't use your feet. I did that my first time. Big mistake."

Jasper nodded, his own bike ripping into being. It was a year old, but still brand new – in fact, this was probably its first ride. His engine hummed where Bella's growled, but the sound was unmistakably animalistic. He looked at her, waiting, and she took off.

It felt like hunting. The beast roared beneath her, battle cries of rubber and metal. It was aggressive and hungry and everything she felt when closing in on prey, but _louder_. A man-made monster. Its ferocity excited her… and it ended all too soon. Where the track had narrowed from a distance, it began to widen, the turn sharpening the closer it came.

Bella clutched the brake, but too late. Her front wheel dipped off the track and into the unbeaten edge of the forest, sending the back rocketing forward. Wind whistled past her as she landed on her side, ribs crushing her arm, with the bike sprawled on top of her. The wheels spun in listless sideways circles.

Jasper was there in an imaginary heartbeat, gracefully hefting the bike aside.

"Are you all right?"

She rolled onto her front and pushed herself onto her feet, brushing dust from her clothes. It felt like falling off a bed, and no worse.

"Yeah, fine. It was like running, so I forgot the bike doesn't react as fast as my legs do." Dirt was caked on her teeth, bitter on her tongue, but her lips broke into a smile. She had ridden. She had crashed. She had felt the breeze in sharp needles, fully aware of everything, not in some murderous haze. "It felt good, actually."

She thought he might look at her like she was crazy. Instead, his eyebrows drew down softly, a subtle smile on his lips. "Yeah. It did."

* * *

_I got a message from Charlie this morning. Two-fifteen a.m. I'm not sure if that's when he checked his email, or if that's just how long it took him to type it. All the letters were lowercase and there weren't any apostrophes._

He didn't seem angry… but then, it was hard to tell. I wrote back, said to get some sleep and try not to worry.

He said he missed my tuna casserole.

* * *

The sky was a fading blue, the leaves on the ground still dimly illuminated and crisply green. It was the earliest she had gone hunting yet; the minute hand on Emmett's watch ticked and ticked, as if clapping congratulations.

Bella wasted no time in slaying a lynx, then a deer and its mate. She wiped rubies from her pinkened lips, feeling the temporary rush of color all over her skin.

"Having fun?" asked Emmett.

She ran a hand through her hair, testing it for tangles and finding none. "I'm sorry, you know."

His thick eyebrows rose. "What's that, now?"

"About needing a supervisor all the time. It must be like trainee week at work, but a lot worse." He leaned against a tree, arms crossed over his broad chest, but he didn't look bored – merely unexcited.

Then he smiled, eyes a warmer honey brown. "C'mon, Bella. Being around you is fun. You're my sister, not my charge."

Air rushed in through her nose, tickling her senses. He'd never called her that before, not once. No one had referred to her as part of the family since the deaths, even Jasper.

"Emmett?" her voice crackled. "If I hug you right now, promise not to crush me?"

He chuckled, deep mirth rumbling, and held open his arms. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

And he was right: she had to hold back, stop herself from cracking his ribs. What she couldn't do with her arms, she did with her heart – hoping that Emmett could feel it through the chasm of her chest, not beating, but singing.

* * *

_I never noticed before, but they don't frown when they have to hunt with me. Not even Rosalie. I always assumed they did, but... Of course they don't smile, and that's fine. But it's such a relief to know they don't frown._

I got blood on Emmett's shirt, but he just laughed and said kids were messy. It was hard not to show him how messy (there was a convenient mound of moss and mud right by us). I always thought I'd go endlessly forward in time – but now I think I'm going a little bit back.

* * *

Rosalie ducked under Bella's outstretched arms, pinching fabric at her waist. She took a pin from between her teeth and stuck it in so close Bella felt the metal against her skin. Rosalie rounded and pinned the other side, then her fingers dipped under the hem of the bust, measuring the give.

"One question I never have to ask is, 'Can you breathe?'" she said absently, the hint of a grin on her lips. She was in much better spirits as the wedding loomed nearer, always busy, always arranging. It surprised Bella: she thought Esme would have been the wedding planner.

"Convenience and its many forms," muttered Bella, ignoring Rosalie's fingertips prodding at her back and fiddling with the zipper.

She was fit, but her body type was different from Rosalie's, whose musculature looked French and thin, like bird bones. Having Rosalie remark on her wider ribcage made Bella hasty to change the subject. "I didn't know you could sew."

"Everyone could when I grew up, all of the women, at least. It was more affordable to make your own clothes back then." A glass-headed pin bobbed between her lips as she talked. Her admittance seemed flippant; she hadn't spoken in hushed or honest tones to Bella since she'd warned her about unhappy endings.

"But weren't you rich?" She turned to look at Rosalie, who cursed and told her not to move. Bella didn't miss the pin that had just snapped against her skin, cradled in Rosalie's palm.

"A good wife knew how to sew," she said. "And cook and clean and entertain guests."

"Oh." Bella wondered briefly if he would have expected that of her – he was even older than Rosalie, living in more archaic times. She could sew only as well as she could cliff-dive.

"It's not a concern anymore. Emmett knows how to sew too, but he stays out of my way when the wedding comes around. His responsibilities are tuxedos and agreeing with me." She smiled. "Thank goodness he's so good at the first."

The image of Emmett sitting at a sewing machine, large fingers fiddling with a needle, amused Bella. "How many times have you two gotten married?"

"Not enough," she told her. "Or so Emmett says."

"What about Jasper and Alice?" The question left her lips before she could stop it; her eyes went to her bare feet, suddenly ashamed.

After a pause in pinning, Rosalie answered hesitantly, "Only once. Then they got into a fight and Alice divorced him. They were in the middle of planning a new one when…"

Bella nodded. "That's so Alice."

"And how about you?" She stepped back, observing the curves of the dress with a clinical eye, then Bella's face placidly. "Given the opportunity, I mean."

"I don't believe in marriage," she said simply, fingering the soft silk. "Kind of how most people don't believe in vampires."

Rosalie laughed – and though it was delicate lace to Emmett's rough, natural leather, it sounded so completely the same.

* * *

_I can't help but wonder who will come to the wedding. Maybe some of the Denali… but maybe not. Maybe Jasper will get in touch with Peter and Charlotte. Maybe the Cullens' circle of friends is much bigger than I thought._

Or maybe the world goes beyond this house. I keep forgetting that to me, Astoria is a ground floor, an upstairs, a garage, and twenty acres of forested land. To them, it's a whole town full of people, an antique store, a roster of patients.

And if any of them are invited… does that mean I'm not?

* * *

She took the turn fast, elbow up and leg out, rounding it with precision. It led to another straight line, shorter, then capped off into a double curve, a perfect S. Through the clumsy orchestra of the wind and the trees and the revving, she heard Jasper's engine growling alongside her, handling the track with equal ease. They blew straight through the next turns, exchanging quick glances, little _nice jobs_ and _you toos_.

Through a solid line of shadow cast by a tall tree, they rode farther than they ever had before. This new portion of the path was bumpy, littered with rocks in some places that they didn't take enough care to avoid. Before them, the ground rose into a tiny peak, slanting harshly upward. A jump.

Bella knew they ought to stop and talk about this first. She'd never taken a jump before – all she knew was what she'd read on the internet, and the things she'd overheard Ben telling Austin. But her palm flexed on the handle, pressing ridges into her skin, and she sped up. He matched her, tire spin for tire spin.

She braced her feet about the frame, feeling a rush of adrenaline as the biked jerked to be suddenly diagonal. There was only the briefest moment of regret, then the earth disappeared.

Bella felt weightless. It was like flying, despite the bike locked between her legs. Nothing filled the air, not even the exhaust pipe's smoky hum; in the soundless ether, memories made her music, flashes of importance and irrelevance.

Then her bike hit the ground, snarling harshly. She snapped awake again, fingers fumbling over the brake. The back wheel stuttered and before she knew it, she was winding zigzag patterns down the track. Another rock, similar to the ones before the jump that they'd dodged like ice-skaters, knocked her front wheel sharply left and she went sliding into the earth.

The bike rocketed forward even on its side, while Bella's elbow dragged into the ground and pulled her to a stop. She lay flat on her back, blue shirt and jeans caked a mild brown. Dirt bloomed over her head in a thick cloud. A silhouette formed against it, Jasper's face clearing through the dust.

He looked at her quizzically, not missing the mix of blank surprise and absolute euphoria on her face. His lips spread into a smile, wider, wider… until she saw his teeth, brilliant white against the bland brown flecking his cheeks.

Her fingers warmed, something writhing happily in the pit of her stomach… and then it bubbled through her, out her dirt-clogged lungs. Laughter. Bella laughed until she had to close her eyes and clutch her waist – and when, through the sound of her unfamiliar lilt, she heard Jasper laughing, she laughed harder.

She was curled onto her side and he was on his knees when the dust settled, their laughter fading into stupid grins. Bella sat up, grimy elbows on her knees, grin plastered to her face.

"Go again?" she asked.

He smiled, amused and kind. "I think your bike's broken, actually. The wheel popped when you landed."

Then she heard it – the nearby whine of the bike, the gentle hiss of air escaping. She shrugged, rather than frowned. "Think Rosalie can fix it?"

"Definitely. All you need is a new tire." Then he rose to his feet, offering her a hand and helping her up.

She thanked him and went to retrieve her bike, lying in scratched, dirt-marred shambles. She'd never seen it look so beautiful before, so purposeful and perfect. Effortlessly, she lifted it over her shoulder and turned to Jasper. For some reason, walking back seemed like a wonderful idea.

He rolled his bike alongside him as she asked, "Y'know, I could blame the bike, but that's probably not fair. So why, then, is it always me wiping out?"

Jasper grinned. "You just have a penchant for falling."

* * *

_I'm always wrong about this vampire stuff. I thought when I was for all accounts dead, I'd stop having near-death experiences. But when I was flying through the air, I swear a montage rolled, some short snapshots of my new photographic memory playing in a rapid slideshow. I can't remember everything, but I know I saw Jasper on that night we went hunting, with his hand on my eye, Rosalie's face cast in moonlight (against the old Forks house), Renée wrapped in a plastic poncho under Niagara Falls, and him smiling in the sunlight, bright as a diamond._

In that order.

* * *

She and Esme walked through the forest after a night of hunting, threads lambently gleaming out of the corner of Bella's eye. Her tongue stung, not entirely pleased with her for trying rabbit. But she couldn't eat anything else in front of Esme: she saw her pained expression, even if killing them was controlling their overpopulation.

She had never been hunting with Esme before, or heard her when she slipped out to eat. From what Bella gathered, she did it as rarely as she safely could.

"Have you ever walked back before?" asked Esme, pushing a thin protruding branch of thorns out of the way. It didn't even graze her skin.

"No, actually." Bella's eyes wandered the darkness, forms distinct. Everything looked like marble, splashed by the moonlight. "It's nice."

Esme softly hummed her agreement. "Sometimes a slow pace is the best kind." She flicked an overhanging cluster of leaves, sending sprinkles of rain onto the ground.

"Thanks for coming with me, Esme," said Bella, after a generous but comfortable silence. "If I'd known Rosalie was going to find so many parts at the dump she'd have to call for the jeep, I would have waited until tomorrow."

"Not at all." She turned to smile, caramel hair blazing in a thin beam of light. "I'd been hoping to come with you, eventually. Emmett and Rosalie are wonderful hunters, but they rush through everything."

She paused, attention drawn away suddenly. "Do you smell that?"

"Deer," Bella whispered back in less than a beat. In fact, it was alarmingly close – but Bella had mostly blinded herself to maroon, especially when she already felt full. "But I've had enough for tonight, Esme."

"No, I don't want you to eat it," she said, drawing a hand back and flattening herself and Bella to the bole of a wide tree. Their lungs were quiet, their hands still. A fawn stumbled over a fallen log and passed directly in front of them. Its ears were perked, standing stick-straight… then they seemed to relax. It bent its head to sniff at the earth, then a far-off twig snapping sent it bounding in the direction it was facing.

Esme's arm fell to her side, and Bella unstuck herself from the bark. "What was that?" she breathed.

Esme smiled, standing in the puddle of shadow the deer had occupied, toeing the leaves it had smelled. "That was a fawn. Someone else's child, probably running back to its mother now. You might have killed it earlier, if it had made the same mistake."

Bella blinked, mouth suddenly dry. Esme looked up, and even drowned in darkness she was in a different light than Bella had ever seen her. "Always appreciate the life you're taking, Bella, whether it's been spent on four legs or two."

In that moment, Esme truly looked like a mother.

* * *

_For a long time, the word "family" wasn't in my dictionary. But I think, somewhere along the line, I got the revised version. I'm beginning to understand it again._

* * *

Bella read through Renée's recent emails, all four of them. The last was stuffed to bursting with photos. In one, Renée strained a smile, sweat beading on her forehead. Behind her a banner waved that read "Mexico Trip 2009!" Phil positively beamed, a boy of maybe four years laughing atop his shoulders. Everyone clutched a water bottle except Renée, who had a book on charity work in her hands.

In another, it was only Phil, glowering from under his eyebrows. He was in a sterile white room, circled by mismatched plastic chairs. A heavily beaded hemp purse rested on one. Underneath was Renée's caption: "Phil wasn't impressed when I dragged him to the vegan support meeting…. Neither was I: he wore a leather jacket."

One that made Bella smile was just Renée and Phil outside their Florida home, she in a sundress and flip-flops, he in Bermuda shorts and a hideous patterned shirt. A camera hung around his neck, and Renée had a star map sticking out of her bag. She wrote, "I read in one of those 'keep your marriage alive' books that you should do something spontaneous at least once a month. In April, Phil wanted to play tourists! We went to Disney World, but one of the mascots recognized us. I forgot Farah's daughter works there in the summer." Directly beneath it was them posing with Tigger.

Bella fired an email back, making sure to mention her favorite images and suggesting Renée not pull Phil into her strange hobbies, at least the ones that cut out meat. She apologized for not having photos of her own to share. No one took them in the Cullen house – it wasn't necessary, with an immaculate memory.

Then she read Charlie's two letters, each graciously short. He mentioned Sam and the others once, Jacob at least three times, and informed her of Billy Black's failing health. She frowned at the screen, wondering what to say, and keeping it short-handed.

_Tell Jacob I said hello, she wrote. And the others, Mike and Angela and the others, if you see them._

Her condolences dotted the end, and she hadn't realized the significance of her final words until the message had already been sent: _See you soon._

* * *

_I don't exactly regret those last three words… but I don't know what to make of them either. They just came out. I can only imagine what Charlie will think when he reads them… what he'll expect. I feel more ready to face him than I ever have before, but _feeling_ ready might not be enough._

* * *

Rosalie's grease-stained hand rummaged through the toolbox, searching for a proper wrench. Bella watched, knees curled to her chest, fascinated as she fastened a new wheel to the old spoke.

"Where did you learn to fix cars?" she asked.

"It's not always fixing," Rosalie corrected her, unfurling her lip from where it had been clenched between her teeth in concentration. "Something doesn't need to be broken to be improved."

"Right. So where did you learn to improve cars, then?"

Her fingers closed around the wrench she'd been searching for; Rosalie lay back against the cold concrete, ponytail gold over grey. "It was my first job."

"Mechanic?"

"Receptionist." She grinned at a far-off memory. "At a car shop in Memphis. I hated it: lowest of the low for a socialite princess like me. The only thing that made it bearable was the owner's son – kind of cute, in a human way. I didn't like him, but he liked me, and I liked that."

Bella nodded. It was easy to admire Rosalie – not for her beauty, but for her honesty about a vanity most other people would be ashamed of.

"He was humble. By this time it was the late fifties, and boys were forgetting how to impress a lady. He never asked me to dinner or brought me flowers, but he showed me how to jumpstart an engine and replace a tire. I was always more interested in the cars than I was in him."

"What was his name?"

"Roger, I think. Roger Lively. I looked him up once, years later, out of curiosity. He married the landfill manager's daughter." Her eyes darkened in the shadow of the bike's frame. "They have two children."

"Sounds nice," Bella said cautiously.

Rosalie hummed, neither in agreement nor denial, and then sat upright. "Good as new. Well, good as it gets. You could always get a new bike, you know."

She shook her head. "I like my monster."

Rosalie smiled, a dot of dirt in the crease of her lip, the ridge of her nose. "There's something classic about a well-worn bike. When the rust holes come in, though, I'm getting you a fresher model myself. You've got to let go of the oldies eventually, and beat a personality into something new."

As Rosalie clicked the toolbox shut, Bella got to her feet, wiping dust from her jeans. "Thanks for this, Rose." She stopped, eyes blurring on the cement and refocusing on Rosalie's face. She'd never called her that before.

Rosalie didn't seem to notice. "Anytime."

* * *

_He called her Rose now and again, and Alice teasingly called her "Rosy." Carlisle doesn't often, and Esme rarely uses anyone's name unless she's reprimanding them – usually calls them dear and love. Emmett calls her all sorts of things, stuff I tune out. But Rose is a nickname. It's more a signifier of her family than Cullen or Hale._

I never thought I'd call her that. And even if I did, when I did, I would have thought about it beforehand. Maybe strategically dropped it after a lot of preparation and carefully steered conversation. But it just… popped out.

And I always assumed that she wouldn't like it. That's she'd glare at me, or tell me not to call her that. But she just walked away, like she hadn't heard it. … No, not like that. Not like she was ignoring something she didn't like. As if she had heard it, but didn't mind. Crickets chirping, birds singing... Something natural.

I wonder if she'll ever call me Bells.

* * *

Careful not to track dirt on the pristine white carpet, Bella left her shoes on the steps and tiptoed in cotton-socked feet over the doorframe. Jasper followed, fingers combing through his hair; dust took flight, swirling in the air.

"Not one crash," he said, more amused than proud. "Rosalie will be disappointed."

"She'll find something else to repair," Bella droned. "What about you? You sound pleased."

"I won a bet with Emmett."

She looked back over her shoulder, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. "You bet Emmett?" There was no scandal in her voice, only surprise – she hadn't even seen Jasper exchange words with his brother in months. The last, made morbidly what seemed like decades ago, neither had won.

He nodded. "First in a while. I said you wouldn't crash today."

She snorted. "That's quite a gamble. Hope you didn't bet too much."

"My bike, but I knew you'd stay on your feet. You've been improving a lot. You look more confident now."

Bella smacked him in the arm, more dirt flying into the air; he recoiled. "Oh, sorry. Forgot I'm stronger than you."

"That's all right," he said. "It's not your fault."

She faced forward again, and they found themselves in the kitchen. The island was bare except for an empty fruit bowl resting in the center and one of Esme's Tolestoy novels lying neatly in its shadow. Through the curtained window, evening light fell in a thin line, reflected off the frosted refrigerator door and beaming in shattered puddles onto the far wall.

Jasper pulled a stool out for her to sit on, which she accepted gratefully. Then he went to the refrigerator and returned with a can of Coca-Cola, dripping with cold. She watched curiously as he set it in front of her and sat down beside her.

How often had he been watching her when she had lingered over the counter, the can growing warmer and warmer as time passed? She would have blushed if she could, but instead she popped it open gently. The fizz of the carbonation made her want to sigh with nostalgia. The feel of the can in her hands, the crisp popping of the bubbles; it was all still comforting somehow. How would it feel, to have it fizz violently across her tongue?

She rejected the thought, and the aluminum gave a muffled chime against the counter as she set it down.

There was an extended silence. Jasper folded his hands on the table, waiting patiently for Bella to speak. She kept her eyes on the splotch of brown that was her reflection on the steel door.

"I hear that a lot, but it never gets any easier to believe," she said finally.

"What's that?"

"'It's not your fault.' But even if it's not on purpose, if I do it, it is my fault. Because I was there to be controlled by the circumstance." She ran her thumb along the can's curved skin, moisture beading on her nail.

"That may be true." A breath ghosted out of her, of strange relief. "But there's nothing that's been your fault, Bella. You haven't made any mistakes. It's somewhat amazing, actually."

"I have you to thank for that." The water dripped down her finger, curling along her hand and splashing silently onto the counter. Her gaze left it to look at him, his gold eyes blazing but calm.

Then it was his turn to look ashamed. "No, you don't."

Her eyebrows rose, her lips upturned. "Come on now," she half-laughed. "Don't even pretend! That night when Tyler was camping. The paperboy. The lynx! If you hadn't been there –"

"You might have done something. I know." His eyes were drawn downward, to her cheeks, her nose, her lips, her throat… anywhere but her own gold-red. "But I only gave you the reason not to."

Creases sliced along the bridge of her nose, brows furrowed. "You stopped me."

"You stopped yourself," he said, exasperation mingled with defeat. "If you really wanted it, Bella – the blood, the hunt – I couldn't have stopped you." Finally his eyes met hers again. "I wouldn't have stopped you."

Thoughts paced sluggishly through her mind, memories dulled by a predator's poor brain. His hands, steady and unflinching on her arms, pinning her… but weak against his words, that cut through the beast's voracious hunger to the girl inside. Bella tried to shove a word onto her tongue, tried to decipher what he was saying _now_, lips unmoving, eyes unblinking, topaz pleading…

Her fist clenched tight, a spray of bubbles and foam erupting from the can and soaking them. Jagged bits of metal furled against her skin like paper; the puddle of soda stretched across the island, dripping onto their laps.

"I'll get a rag," he said. His eyes faded into gentle placidity as he rose and went for the plaid cotton hanging on the stove handle.

"Wait – Jasper!"

Esme came into the kitchen, alarmed. "Oh, Tolestoy! Honey, hurry with that rag!"

Bella sat there, dumbfounded and numb, as the cola turned her jeans the color of mud.


	3. oh, sing so i can hear you

**Author's Note:** A last thanks to everyone who made this possible: my wonderful betas (**sporkedd** and **interfection**), and everyone who commented, mem'd and rec'd! It means a lot! Without further ado, I give you the concluding chapter of Someone Else's Memoirs!

_D__arkness, if you can hear me,  
I will try to draw you near me,  
But in the morning you will wake up alone._

_Oh, when your body breaks,  
Even the hummingbirds will feel the earthquake,  
You'll sing a song of your heart's complaint._  
"Molasses," The Hush Sound

* * *

Someone Else's Memoirs_  
__sing it loud, sing it clear – oh, sing so I can hear you, then sing it soft in my ear_

* * *

_I can't help but wonder if my life is a novel, and I'm missing all the symbolism... If I'm teaching Jasper, or if Jasper's teaching me._

* * *

Bella clutched the arm of her seat. The leather squealed under her iron nails; Carlisle placed a calming hand over hers, and she gladly wrapped her fingers through his, straining not to snap the tender bones.

Flying in an actual airplane was something else. She could feel every faint rock of the craft, every bubble of air as it hit the wings. Glasses chimed, ice cubes clinked together in hollow chorus – beneath that was the drumming of the engine, the roar of turbines shredding air into tangled ribbons.

They took a private jet, so as to not smother Bella with the scent of caged prey. She sat nearest to the aisle, Carlisle to her right and Esme to his. Emmett and Rosalie were two rows ahead, and Jasper occupied a row alone, headphones over his ears and head propped against the window.

"A bit of turbulence," came the pilot's silk voice over the intercom. Even through the static crackle, she knew he was a vampire. Then her thoughts were dragged away, the plane lurching like a ship on a choppy sea. The air above the clouds was hot and hungry, gnashing at them like teeth, and she could feel the graze of every incisor.

Her breath came shallow, short, her eyes squeezed shut against the glare of sunset-soaked leather.

"Not much longer," breathed Carlisle. "Jasper's doing the best he can."

He rarely used his gift on her, or so she supposed, but it became evident throughout the passing minutes that she was more immune to it than she ever had been before. If it was a strange manifestation of a special ability, she wasn't sure.

The aisle jumped; Bella squeezed Carlisle's hand, barely catching the wince on his face from the corner of her eye. She forced herself to slacken her grip. Her head rested against the chair, eyes staring at the ceiling, lips sucking in stale air.

"All this," she growled, "for your stupid wedding."

Rosalie heard her from two rows up, tiny giggle lost against Emmett's merry laugh. "All this," he called back, "and then a boat!"

Bella groaned, shutting her eyes sharply.

"Newborns are fun," said Emmett.

"Emmett," reprimanded Esme and Rosalie.

"Almost there," said Carlisle.

She heard the squeal of violins through headphones, then silence. Bella opened her eyes; Jasper was standing by her seat, hand extended toward her.

"It might work better this way," he said. "Would you like to sit with me?"

She nodded, not even glancing at Carlisle; his hand was stiff as she unwove her fingers. She rose shakily to take the empty seat beside Jasper's.

"Listen to this." The headphones were cushioned over her ears; the turbines hushed, the engine whined softly, the ice cubes quieted. Then the calming croon of a cello, accompanied by a flute – the stereo growl was almost imperceptible.

"Better?" Jasper mouthed the word.

Air spilled in through her lips, gentle and long. "Much."

She closed her eyes. When the afterimage of the inverted cabin faded, she called to mind the forest as she'd seen it with Esme: the fawn snuffling curiously at the ground, the trees soggy with rain. Her lungs moved predictably. The cello sung for what seemed like forever… then a brief pause interrupted, and the sound of an acoustic guitar picked up. It was heady, strong, but comforting. The forest came back against her eyelids, the moonlight falling through the foliage onto Jasper's white wife-beater, his face the same unreadable expression as in the kitchen, telling her something, screaming out silence…

Bella's eyes snapped open. Her hand was empty; the headphones rose off her head and rested in Jasper's lap.

"We're here," announced Carlisle.

* * *

_I always like it when people say what they mean. It saves everyone time, and it's probably the easiest way to avoid arguments. That's what I like about Rosalie and Emmett. And I grew up with Renée, who always speaks her mind – and Charlie, who doesn't speak much at all, but it's never because he's not saying something, it's because he hasn't got anything to say._

_With Jasper… it's like he's giving me pieces of a puzzle, except I've got no reference picture to work off of, no box cover to look at that tells me exactly how many pieces there are and how they fit together. It's so frustrating. I'm forming something, but I can't tell if I'm just starting or if I'm halfway done. If I don't know what I'm making, how can I be sure I want to finish it?_

* * *

Rosalie's dress dripped off her body in white silk, cornflowers with centers of cream embroidered on the hem and thinning as they wove upward in a pretty thicket. She lined her eyes in thread-thin traces of black, long lashes curled. Her hair spun spirals down her back and over her shoulders, pinned with pearls. Her lips were a glossy pink, her cheeks feigning humanity with a lovely powder blush.

Bella had never seen anyone more beautiful in her entire life.

She stood at the altar, Esme on her other side, Emmett and Jasper standing across from them in suits to match. Emmett looked dashing, his tuxedo black as jet, cufflinks white gold with sapphires encrusted.

As Rosalie floated up the aisle, arm linked with Carlisle's, the half-dozen or so vampires not in the wedding party looked on with jealousy and stardust in their eyes. The females admired her like Mona Lisa, but loathed her like Aphrodite. The males shifted in their seats, suddenly nervous in their own absolute beauty, palms flexing over the backs of the pews. But Rosalie's smile was soft, and for the first time since Bella had met her, she was unaware of her vanity; her eyes were on Emmett's. Bella heard their breath swill the same, like substitute heartbeats.

The minister addressed them and the congregation, saying the words with conviction and familiarity. _God_ never arose. Bella could do nothing but stare as Emmett and Rosalie said their vows to one another. It was easy to tell they were neither memorized nor recited – that Emmett and Rosalie just brought out poetry in each other. When they kissed, Bella felt her eyes tighten and her throat go dry, her whole body trying to cry.

They signed a wedding license, and aside from the flock of absurdly gorgeous people, Bella almost forgot it was anything but a human wedding. Then it hit her that all the flashes she saw was the sunlight glinting off bare shoulders and diamond necklaces – there were no cameras in sight. Everyone merely looked on the bride and groom, lashes fluttering open and closed like shutters.

The reception took place under a canopy of lace. No lights or candles were strewn about, but afternoon sun slunk through the latticework and reflected off the guests. Wood had been lain for dancing, a band of strings set upon a satin stage. Tables were cloaked in more fine white, empty of plates and glasses, but lush with arrangements of calla lilies.

Bella folded her dress over her legs, her skin shimmering white against the silky blue. Music bled from violin strings and piano keys. Emmett took Rosalie's hand and they moved across the floor like music-box dancers, in a seamless, beautiful loop. Emmett bent down to whisper things into Rosalie's ear, too quiet for even their guests' keen senses. Her smile widened unabashedly, and she pressed a kiss to his neck.

The song shifted, and other couples moved to join the dance. Bella watched, delighted. Carlisle and Esme stepped onto the floor, his hand at her waist, hers on his shoulder. They waltzed as if they had invented it.

A shadow alighted beside hers on the tablecloth. She looked up at Jasper, and for the second time since they'd crossed from Washington, he held his hand toward her.

"This dance, Miss Swan?" he asked.

Bella swallowed, suddenly nervous. In the corner of her eye, Esme spun, dress twirling about her like a maypole. "Oh, I don't…. I'm not a good dancer. I'm sorry."

He smiled. "Neither was Alice, until I taught her how. And you're a very quick learner."

She was suddenly glad she had the blush to fake how she felt. "I'll look…"

"Lovely?" Bella's head snapped up, surprised by his boldness. "I know."

"Jasper…"

"One dance," he said. The playfulness left his voice, his expression summoning her daydream on the plane into vivid reality. "I promise not to let you crash."

She sighed, fingers smoothing her dress as she stood. "All right."

His hand in hers soothed her nerves. He led her onto the dance floor; the click of her short heels made her apprehensive of her long-forgotten clumsiness. Jasper guided her hand to his shoulder, placing his at her waist.

"I'll step forward," he said. "You step back. Simple and elegant."

Bella nodded. When he leaned toward her, she did as he said, and they moved back. He smiled encouragingly.

"Now, to the side." His right foot went out, and she followed with her left. "Forward for you, back for me." Forward they went.

Her shoulders dropped in a release of tension… then Carlisle and Esme circled by, smiling, and a heat she didn't have wished to rise to Bella's cheeks.

"One dance," she said, ready to disentangle herself. "That was nice."

Jasper blinked. "That was one step. Come on, Bella. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course!" she blurted.

"Then again, to the side."

They concentrated on stepping slowly, moving in gradual circles. She felt cumbersome and stocky next to the graceful dancers on all sides, eyes glued to her feet. They looked too big in such dainty, pointed shoes. Her dress, swishing at her ankles, was like stiff paper.

"Look at me," said Jasper. "Watch my eyes and feel the steps. It's easier that way."

Tentatively, she glanced up at him, locking gazes. Her first step back, she stumbled; he pulled her waist closer to keep her from falling, and they continued the dance.

The music changed – Bella gasped when she realized it was the same song that had been playing on the plane, when Jasper had become part of her forest. Her muscles tensed, her fingers flexing around his, but she went forward when he went back, right when he went right.

The guitar called the shock out of her, let her hands relax. When Jasper abruptly spun her, she wove out and into his arms without missing a beat. He smiled, and she smiled back; the same warmth that had coiled in her stomach the day she'd broken her bike returned.

When she came back in, his hand was at the small of her back, her chest pressed closer to his. She saw her breath mingle on his neck for a moment, pale against his tuxedo jacket. But they danced more gracefully than ever, so she kept her mouth shut and stepped.

The music soothed her, lulling her until she could have fallen asleep, were she still swayed by her own humanity. She rested her head against his shoulder, going back, side, forward, side. Her eyes closed, the other dancers disappearing with her self-consciousness.

Here awareness woke with a jolt when the song ended. Immediately she realized her fingers, tangled in the hair at Jasper's neck, and his arm around her waist. There wasn't enough space between them for a strip of paper to slip through. She waited to hear her pulse race, until she remembered she didn't have one.

Jasper broke from her, bowing. "Thank you."

"Uh…" she stammered.

"If you'll excuse me a moment?"

Her neck felt stiff, but she nodded anyway, and before she knew it was walking toward the tables. The music had begun to play again, but it dimmed with his retreating back.

When she looked forward again, Emmett and Rosalie were there, hands clasped.

"It was nice to see you dance, Bella," said Rosalie.

"Th-thanks." Bella meant to comment on how beautiful their wedding was, how beautiful Rosalie was, their vows were, the reception, dancing, _anything_, but the words got stuck in her empty lungs.

Emmett grinned widely. "And all that without falling!"

* * *

_The thing is… I'm not so sure._

* * *

Rosalie and Emmett left them at the airport to catch their honeymoon flight to Brazil. Esme kissed them both goodbye, Carlisle gave them hugs, and Jasper shook their hands. Emmett could be heard laughing long after he passed the gate.

The flight back, Bella curled into a window seat alone. She flattened her palms against her ears and closed her eyes, imagining the Astoria house and all its rooms. She left the kitchen out, moving past it as she envisioned the foyer and the living room. She deliberately skimmed past Emmett's room as well.

In the private jet, it became easier to ignore the turbulence and rocketing engines. After she'd remodeled every insignificant detail of the house – from where Emmett had last left the television remote to what color dishrag was hanging on the stove – Bella's mind began to wander. It branched from the center of her universe out into the forest, past the first row of welcoming trees and into the darkness. It was threadless – there was no color aside from the green moss and brown bark.

Suddenly, as if someone had muted her imaginary sun, everything faded to grey. Bella's eyes snapped open before she saw any hint of gold or blond. She glued them to the back of the vacant chair in front of her, counting the ridges in the leather until they landed.

* * *

_As soon as I got home, I checked my email. It was as bad as I thought it would be. Charlie didn't write anything except for two words: How soon?_

_Renée had obviously heard the news from Charlie. Her message was a lot longer. She wanted to know what month, day, hour, minute, and second I would be arriving at Jacksonville Airport, what flight number I would be on, how many bags I'd have (to know if she should take her sedan or Phil's SUV), if I was bringing anyone with me, if I had warm weather clothes…_

_I didn't know what to do and I didn't really want to think about it, so I closed the emails and tried to distract myself with Tetris. But I didn't have the right version of Flash to play it, so then I just wound up browsing around on Google and… and somehow I found myself looking at flights to Seattle and Jacksonville._

_Even if I wanted to, I couldn't take one. There are way too many people on those planes. So then I thought I might be able to take the jet again, and if I brought someone with me, it wouldn't bother me so much to be around humans, and…_

_I don't know what to say to Renée and Charlie. And I know even less what to say to Esme and Carlisle._

* * *

Bella turned the unopened can of soda around and around, until the thin frosting of cold had soaked her fingers. Her eyes wandered the curve of the lettering until each symbol steadily lost meaning, and it was all a garbled painting on smooth metal. She twirled it until the sunlight ceased to glint off the rim, until the bright red stained her hands and the dull silver shone through.

Then the phone rang.

It took her nine rings to realize it was making noise at all. She set the can down, ignoring her pink fingers. She put the phone to her ear and muttered a hello.

"Hey, Bella!" Emmett answered cheerfully on the other end of the line. His voice hurt her ears after the hours idled away without even a quiet complaint from the can. "How are you?"

"I'm all right," she said. "Just staring at a coke. You?"

"Good. Rose's by the pool, pretending to tan." He chuckled. "It's a cloudy day, but she just likes to show off. You should see the looks the girls give her."

Bella blinked. "Doesn't that make you angry?"

"Hmm? Nope. The looks the _guys_ give her make me angry."

Bella smiled, absently plucking the soda from the countertop and slipping it back inside the fridge. "So, why the call, Emmett? Or have I just missed all the Rosalie Updates so far?"

"I like it when you're funny," he said. "And no, that's the first. I'm just calling to see how everyone's doing. Are the others around?"

She shook her head, feeling silly when she remembered he couldn't see. "Carlisle's at work, Esme's at the antique store, and Jasper's gone to buy a new pair of jeans. He tore the last ones hunting."

Silence. Then, "Whoops. Sorry. I nodded. I don't use phones often – I forgot you couldn't see that."

"I can imagine," she laughed.

"So just you, then?"

"Yep. Just me."

"All right. Bella Update. Shoot."

"Not much new," she told him, sliding onto the stool again and cradling her chin in her palm. "Kind of bored, actually. Thanks for calling."

"Mmm." There was a shuffling sound, like the phone switching shoulders. "We never really got to talk before leaving. Did you enjoy the wedding?"

"It was beautiful." Crisp images of white dresses and envious vampires flashed through her mind. "Really, Emmett. Are all your weddings like that?"

"Some are more extravagant than others," he said. "Rosalie actually considered that one embarrassingly low budget."

Bella laughed. "I thought she might."

"You seemed to be having fun." Even through the phone, she noticed a wary dip in his tone. "I've never seen you dance before."

"I don't dance, not really. That was all Jasper."

"You danced with Edward at prom, that one time." The dip grew lower, speculative. "But even that wasn't really dancing. You just stood on Edward's feet, didn't you?"

She swallowed, her grip on the phone suddenly tighter. "Your point?"

He chuckled, but it was forced, not wholly Emmett. "Nothing. I'm just saying you two looked good. Enough for Rose to stop and stare."

"She did _what_?"

"Yeah, caught me off-guard too. I almost knocked her over."

"Why would she –"

"Sorry, Bella, Rosalie's waving at me. I think she wants to go swimming. It was really nice talking to you! I'll definitely call again before we come home. Tell Carlisle and the others I said hi, okay? And tell Jasper Rosalie said his waltz was sloppy. He'll laugh."

"Wait, Emmett, why would Rosalie –"

The air in the phone was empty. Bella waited, waited, until the dial tone picked up and scratched her ears. Sighing, she switched the phone off, temporary alarmed by her white knuckles over the black plastic.

* * *

_I told the others that Emmett called. When they asked what he said, I told them he didn't have much time to talk – just that he gave everyone a hello. That was all I intended to disclose… but later, as Jasper and I were cleaning the bikes, I told him about Rosalie's comment. I don't know why._

_He didn't laugh. His eyes darkened a bit, like they did in the forest... Maybe Emmett was giving me another puzzle piece. Right now it doesn't seem to be fitting together properly... Feels more like I'm mashing mismatched images together with a hammer, and I'm only breaking it up into more fragments._

* * *

"Ready?"

"In a second!" Bella called. She'd finally grown accustomed to their personal type of yelling: that was, not raising her voice even when he was all the way down a flight of stairs. She typed in the last few letters, completed a word, and sent the email to Charlie.

She paused at her closed door, stopped by her jacket hanging from the hook. She usually went biking in an old band t-shirt or a ragged hand-me-down of Emmett's…. That was until yesterday, when she was sorting through her wardrobe, and she came upon the riding jacket he'd bought for her all those months ago.

It was in pristine condition, having only been worn once or twice. There were scratches in the elbows where she'd fallen onto pavement, but other than that the leather shone sleekly. It reminded her of streetlights reflected in gasoline puddles.

"Bella?" came Jasper's voice again.

She shook her head, gulped in air, and snatched the jacket off the hook, zipping it up quickly. It had always felt a little tight, as though sewn for someone smaller. Now it fit her like a glove, comfortably snug, like it was hanging on the mannequin it had been made for. She didn't spare a glance in the mirror before rushing down the stairs.

Jasper was already in the garage, waiting for her. The dim light of a cloudy day poured through the open door, stopping short of where he stood. He turned, face slipping from relief and impatience to that same indecipherable mask.

"What?" Bella asked, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. Her fingers squirmed inside the leather and satin, uncomfortable.

"Nothing," he said, eyes going to the handlebars as he wheeled his bike out. "That's a nice jacket."

"Thanks. But I feel kind of overdressed."

Jasper shrugged as he climbed onto the bike. They didn't speak for the entire ride to the track.

They hugged corners and soared off jumps, but something felt different to Bella. They were on the third part of their private course when she veered to a stop, sending gravel flying in a wide arc. He braked some five feet up and looked at her, curious.

She stared at him expectantly. "Why does this feel more like work than fun?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, stationary.

Bella dropped the kickstand and dismounted, following the trail of settling dust toward him. "This ride. You commented on my jacket and now I feel like we're racing through the course. Like you're only riding to get it done and go home."

"I don't know what you mean."

_"Jasper."_

His eyes flickered away, and she saw it again. Her fingers curled into fists, eyes narrowing, brows cutting downward.

He looked at her, alarmed. "You're angry."

She nodded slowly. How many times had she seen him make that face? How many answers had she gotten to her increasingly numerous questions?

The leather of her jacket tightened against her flexing arms, strained across her stomach and chest… again his expression flattened, and finally it clicked.

Perhaps it was the sight of the black bike, or the warm embrace of the jacket, but in that moment the mystery solved itself. It was the same expression _he'd_ been wearing when he first gave her the jacket, when she first put it on.

_You look… sexy._

Her tongue ran along the roof of her mouth, seeking moisture in the sudden draught. Her fists unfurled, fingers limp, and her face slid into placid shock.

Jasper's did the same. "Bella, wait, I –"

She stepped backward, toward the safety of her beaten bike, eager to hear its faithful growl. It started without complaint, rounding in a crescent as she rode back the way she'd come. For once, she was without the gentle purr of Jasper's engine.

* * *

_I'm going to kill Emmett._

* * *

Having rolled her bike into the garage, she stepped past the kitchen and into the living room to retrieve her Mark Twain novel. To her surprise, the television was playing on mute, Emmett and Rosalie sitting together on the couch, Esme and Carlisle on the recliners.

"Hey, Bella!" Emmett got up immediately, sweeping her into a hug. He set her down again, hands heavy on her shoulders. "Nice jacket!"

"Uh, thanks," she said, dumbstruck. Then Rosalie was by Emmett's side, calling his hand away from Bella's shoulder.

"Afternoon, Bella." Bella didn't miss the flash of appraisal as Rosalie took in her dusty hair and cheeks. "Riding? Where's Jasper?"

The moment evaporated, caught up in the gravity in the situation at hand. Bella's gaze hardened and she looked at Emmett. "Can I talk to you for a second, Emmett? Alone?"

He blinked. "Sure, Bells."

She led him to the backyard, Esme's questions about Brazil this time of year fading as they grew farther away. When they were at the edge of the forest, and Bella was confident even eavesdropping Rosalie couldn't hear them, she smacked Emmett on the arm.

"Ow! What's that for?"

"For not telling me!" Bella hissed. "About Jasper! That's a useful little tidbit, wouldn't you say?"

He paused, face blank… then a slow, knowing smile crossed his lips. Bella hit him again, but he didn't flinch.

"Emmett! Take this seriously, will you?"

"I am," he said, and his tone dared her to question otherwise.

"Then why didn't you tell me?" She lost steam along her question, voice getting watery. "If you knew, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's something you should figure out on your own," he said. "Nothing in the world felt better than when I found out Rosalie felt the same way about me that I did about her."

"Are you _insane_?" Her pitch rose again into a hoarse whisper. "Do you even hear the words that are coming out of your mouth!? Jasper…. I don't…!"

Emmett's smile widened. "You're still such a kid, kid."

"This kid is going to kick your…"

His hand fell over her shoulder, calming, and the smile left his face. He looked peaceful… even a little wise. "Don't you think you're overreacting?"

"Overreacting?" she breathed. "This is a big deal, Emmett!"

"Why?" he asked. "Mike Newton liked you, remember? That wasn't a big deal. You just ignored him. It's the same thing."

"No, it's not," she stressed. "This is Jasper."

"What makes Jasper different, then?"

Bella looked at him like he was crazy, her eyes pleading, curse words running through her head. "I…. He…. He's _Jasper_!"

The slightest quirk of a smile. "So he's like your brother?"

She thought on that for a moment. "Well, no, not exactly."

"So he's like your best friend?"

"Yes!"

"And didn't you kiss your old best friend, Jacob Black?"

Bella growled, knocking his hand away. "Do you really want to play this game with me? You can't even beat me in an arm wrestle. You want to try the rest of my body?"

Emmett barked with sudden laughter. "Man, I am so glad I got back in time for this!"

"This isn't funny!"

"It's _hilarious_!"

"EMMETT!" she screamed. "They'll be serving the leftovers from your wedding at your funeral!"

She'd never heard or seen him laugh so hard; it boomed past the forest, past the house. He had folded over, clutching his stomach, begging for breath. Rosalie, Carlisle and Esme were there out of nowhere, exchanging looks of concern.

"What did you _do_?" asked Rosalie, incredulous.

Bella huffed, knocking against him as she stalked off, all their eyes stuck to her back.

* * *

_Killing isn't enough. I'm going to get him back first. I don't know how, but I will. I'm thinking a combination of his Wrangler, pink spray paint, super-glue, and a lot of Barbie dolls._

* * *

Night washed over the house. Bella lay on her couch, eyes unfocused on the ceiling as it slipped into darker shades of black. The alarm clock at her side cast a pale green glow in the corner of her eyes, growing more vivid as the day grew dark. Finally she turned over. _1:28 a.m._

Her mouth was still dry, her throat sore. She rolled off the bed and left her room, closing the door softly behind her. Her feet made no noise as she descended the stairs, past where her jacket hung by the door, and into the kitchen.

He sat in the darkness, watching his fingers. A pile of fabric shreds rose on the counter – what was previously a dishrag. Jasper ripped a thin strip into two smaller ones, dropping them and looking up when she entered.

"I came down for some water," she said, though she knew it wouldn't help. It was all there was – her thirst wasn't for blood, just anything mundane and normal to calm her.

"Bella, I'm sorry."

She faced the sink, placing a cup under the column of running water. She struggled to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "It's not your fault."

A venomous chuckle. "I suppose that makes you my unfortunate circumstance?"

"I was thinking the jacket," she turned to look at him, glass to her lips. Water rushed down her throat… as soon as her tongue felt slick, it was dry again. "But I guess I'll take credit where credit is due."

Sighing, Bella drew up a stool beside him, sliding the glass onto the table and taking a strip of fabric. She wound it around her finger idly. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have run away like that."

"I understand."

"You're my best friend."

"I know."

"You say that a lot." She tried to smile. "So, what do we do now?"

His hair fell in front of his eyes, blond obscuring gold in the darkness. Fabric keened as it was slowly ripped apart. "Move on, I suppose."

"Get a new riding jacket," she offered.

He half-laughed, devoid of humor. "Or a new bike."

"A new track."

"A new house."

"A new state."

"A new planet."

She grinned. "Well, I can help with the state, at least."

Jasper looked up, fright in his eyes for a moment. "You're…"

"Going to visit my mom and dad." She brushed hair behind her ear. "I don't think they've ever met you."

He nodded slowly. "Alice said Charlie was nice."

"Alice is never wrong."

His eyes went back to his fingers. The strip in his hand was already too small to be separated again. "When?"

"Next month."

Jasper rose from the stool, scooping up the remains of the dishtowel and tossing them into the garbage like used confetti. Then he said, "Sure. I'll buy you a pair of headphones for the trip."

* * *

_Rosalie looks at me like she's disappointed. It makes me want to scream at her. I can't apologize for something I never had. I can't be sorry for feelings that simply aren't there._

_"I just don't feel that way about him." The worst part is I can't even tell her that. When I try to, the words won't come out._

_I thought that day, when I wore the jacket, I finally finished the puzzle. Now it feels like there's one little piece missing._

* * *

"I think you're making a big mistake," hummed Emmett from the couch, remote bouncing between his hands.

"I think I didn't ask your opinion," Bella muttered, not looking up from the newspaper.

"I think I'm your brother, so I get to give it regardless."

"I think I'm your sister, so I get to disregard it, regardless."

She didn't look up, but supposed he pouted. The volume of the sitcom character's voice fluctuated, the laugh track ebbing accordingly… then the static _bing!_ as the television winked out of life. The couch cushions sighed as Emmett heaved himself off. His shadow edged over her, and he waited for a response.

"I don't actually need light to read, so you can stand there all day," she said, flipping a page. "Do vampires get leg cramps?"

"They get annoyed."

"Trust me," she droned. "I know."

Emmett groaned; his shadow shifted as he craned his neck from side to side. "You're a ball of nerves lately, you know that?"

Bella shrugged noncommittally.

"Oh, come on. You're not even going to analyze what I just said? I have a whole 'deeper meaning' speech prepared."

A page whispered as it turned.

"Fine then. Enjoy the newspaper. I hear there's an article about you in the Denial Section." Then he retreated, quiet footsteps fading as he ascended the stairs.

* * *

_Ball of nerves. The term's been rolling around in my head for the last two hours. Stupid Emmett._

_Ball of nerves. Well, of course I am! Wasn't I when I found out about Jacob's feelings? And nothing good came of that, not for either of us! Not that I even have that option here. I don't feel the same way about Jasper as he apparently does about me. I just... When I'm around him, I feel like my palms _should_ sweat. Like my cheeks should go red or my hair stand on end... And no wonder! Emmett keeps freaking me out with all pushing and needling!_

_No one's taking my side, either. Don't get me wrong: it's not a game of sides. But Rosalie gives me disapproving glances, Emmett's ready to start a campaign, Esme smiles like it's all one big inside joke, and Carlisle doesn't say a word, just watches with amusement and some weird sort of knowing. And Jasper... I haven't seen him much, not enough to know how he feels about this._

_Ball of nerves. Stupid, stupid Emmett. He really is like the big brother I never wanted._

* * *

She returned to the kitchen island around midnight to finish off the paper she'd been forced to put down, when her fingers curled into fists and those three irritating words boomed louder and louder. Now the house was quiet, and Emmett was confined to his room, and she could sit in silence.

Her eyes scanned every word inattentively. From the crimes to the cell phone advertisements, from the film reviews to the classifieds. The ink was a delightful jumble of information that she never had to focus on to interpret. The newspaper was meditative: the smeared words passed into her head, briefly illuminated, and then back out into the darkness. She retained what few important bits there were and let the rest quietly cleanse her mind, body counts and shampoo coupons alike.

"Evening," came Rosalie's siren call. She emerged from the shadow into a beam of light, white nightgown effervescent.

"Hello," said Bella, glancing up for only a moment. "What are you doing down here this late?"

"Emmett wanted me to show you this," she sighed; Bella noticed, then, a tiny slip of glossy paper in her hands. A photo. "It's from the wedding."

"Why would Emmett –"

She slid the photo over the newspaper; it shone against the dull, recycled page. "He's very persistent. He's bothered me about it for days – even though I kept telling him it's the wife's right to nag."

Bella swallowed a groan, only able to concentrate on the photo when Rosalie's perfect stone hand had pulled away.

There was Rosalie, looking like a model from a wedding catalogue – no, better: like a bride painted by a master on her wedding day, immortalized in brushstrokes. Emmett looked just as handsome, and even the mere likeness, bound and embossed, was almost more beautiful than Bella could handle.

"I didn't know anyone took a picture."

"We get at least one at each wedding," she remarked tiredly.

"You look beautiful."

A sigh of irritation escaped Rosalie's lips. "Yes, well, if it were just us, Emmett wouldn't have begged me to show it to you. Look _behind_ us."

It was hard to pull her eyes away from Rosalie's flat, hypnotic smile, Emmett's smoldering and happy eyes. Behind the two was the dance floor and the tent, the platform upon which the band weaved their music…. It had been taken at the reception, while people were dancing. Esme was mid-spin, her lips open in a laugh, Carlisle's in a smile…. And there were Bella and Jasper.

As she had been dancing, she'd closed her eyes and felt only her feet, only the steady breathing of Jasper's chest. Now she saw how they must have looked: her head rested snuggly against him, nestled into the crook of his neck. Her one arm was around his shoulder, toying absently with the collar of his jacket, and her hand seemed to disappear in his; his other rested in a proper but intimate way between her waist and hip, fingers gently guiding. They were close enough that her dress swirled around not only her legs, but his as well. A soft smile played on each of their lips.

Bella swallowed. "Oh."

"I know," said Rosalie. "Leave it to you to outdo me in my own wedding photo."

Bella looked up, apologetic, but blanched upon seeing Rosalie's face. She didn't look jealous or spiteful, but wistful, her eyes on the photograph as it was gripped again in her thin fingers. When she glanced at Bella, it was almost piteous – it disregarded the sharp words that were always on Rosalie's tongue and said instead, _I can't bear to watch you make the same mistake._

"Do you see now?"

"A little," Bella admitted. "But it's…. Rosalie, I can't…"

"Most people," she said, voice unusually heavy, as if leaden with the grief she was always hiding, "only get one chance at a happy ending, Bella. And look at you, so lucky with two."

She blinked quickly – it was the second time she wished she could cry for Rosalie, but only the first out of sadness. "I'd give it to you if I could, Rose, you know that."

"That's not what I want," her voice turned harder, but her eyes stayed drawn and achingly dry. "Emmett was my second chance, but he might not have been if I never took the time to realize it. For so long I said, 'He is my brother. He is my friend.' And I would have been all right like that, Bella. But like this," she glanced down at the thin band around her third finger, "I'm happy."

"I don't know what to say," Bella choked out. "I can't just make feelings happen, Rosalie."

"Can't you?" She handed the photograph back to Bella, not bothering to be careful of smudges, except for the small corner where Bella and Jasper danced. Then her tone hardened, her invisible tears vanishing. "Keep that. We have others. And think about it, Bella. Goodnight."

Rosalie had long since left the room when Bella finally unglued her eyes from the picture and squeezed out, "Goodnight."

* * *

_"It was just a dance," I'd told myself. "It was just a dance." Now I've got that picture stuffed between the pages of my poor, beaten_ Wuthering Heights_, tucked deep into my suitcase... but I still can't get it out of my head. "Ball of nerves" is gone and now it's "it wasn't just a dance."_

_And if that wasn't just a dance... Were those just bike rides? Was that just a track on an MP3 player? Was that just a can of soda and a knack for perception?_

_All these months… have I been listening too hard to the music to realize I was moving my feet?_

* * *

"Are you sure, Bella?" Emmett asked, magazine now closed over his lap. "Rosalie or I could go with you. It's not any trouble."

"No, it's really all right," she said. "It's… important for me to do this alone."

"Jasper might like to come," Rosalie suggested. "After all, he's flying with you tomorrow, isn't he? I'm sure he'd like to hunt, too. You can never be too careful."

"He's already been hunting," she told them. "Yesterday. He knows I want to do this alone. And he's already checked – no one's camping."

"Are you –"

"_Yes_, Emmett, I'm sure." Bella wound an elastic band around her hair, and opened the backdoor. "I'll see you later."

"Good luck," they said in unison.

_Don't need it,_ she replied silently, _but thanks._

She walked quietly through the forest, patiently searching for a particularly appealing color. Blues were dull, the maroons were too numerous to make the chase as long as she'd like. Slivers of orange and purple (elk and bear) shone, but both left a sour taste in her mouth. Two or three scarlet threads wound together in a lazy, boring circle. Bella was about to give up and pursue one when there it flashed: gold.

Out of curiosity, she followed it further into the forest. It dove through thicker patches of shadow, away from the moonlight and into caves of leaves and fallen tree trunks. Soundlessly, she hopped over roots and under branches, slow, savoring. The gold grew more vibrant the closer she came until there it was, bathed in flecks of moonlight: a mountain lion.

Its head turned slowly, jet eyes tracing her precisely despite the shadow. It – he – didn't move. Instead, his paws sunk deeper into the ground, cords of muscle flexing beneath the smooth fur. His nose caught her scent as it wafted on the dewy air.

Bella lunged. Her fingers dug into the earth where it had been standing; its paw prints led a smudgy trail away. She took off after it, legs pumping, catching glimpses of its tail as it ran.

The air rammed into her lungs, remnants of rain sticking to her skin like sweat. Her shirt and jeans clung heavily to her body; loose strands of hair stuck to her face. The mountain lion moved seamlessly through the underbrush, but the branches whipped ferociously at Bella's eyes and cheeks.

Time became insignificant. He consumed her being with his flashes of black eyes and ivory teeth, coat of woven brass. Her hand clawed at the air, missing his tail by a hair's breadth. She stumbled a moment, knee swallowed by the earth, air rushing out of her – and was just as quickly on her feet, sprinting forward.

He led her farther into the forest than she'd ever been before, into new patches of worm-eaten trees and thriving weeds. Her foot caught on a vine of thorns, gnawing at her sock and jeans. She tore the whole plant from the ground in her haste, and it fell off as she ran.

He burst through a curtain of leaves, disappearing. She followed suit, erupting through the darkness… into a strangely familiar meadow, bright like a pool of liquid moonlight. The long grass rolled in waves, whitened tips like foam licking at the shore.

Suspended in the night, it looked no different than when it was bathed in the sun. Memories sparked to life, her prey temporarily forgotten. Her eyes swept over a tree that rose and poked out, wound still jagged from where he'd ripped off the thick branch and tossed it to the ground. Then he'd been a blur, circling and circling like a race car on a track…

The mountain lion froze in the center of the meadow, facing her. Its black eyes called her attention back; the memories hushed. His lungs heaved with effort, his jaws hung open to draw in gusts of white breath. His claws dug into the grass.

Bella watched him, air rushing needlessly in and out of her. Her hands clenched and unclenched, knuckles going from cream to white. She waited, exhausted but patient, for him to pounce.

Instead, his eyes seemed to focus on hers. For a moment, they both stopped breathing. The movement in the meadow stilled to stagnant water, and they treaded, sharing the silent ocean.

His head dipped, neither sadly nor in defeat, but in acknowledgment of an equal predator, foe, animal, king. A common, quiet language passed between them, words woven of his rapid heartbeat echoing in her cavernous chest. Then he turned, sturdy spine to her, walking quietly away. The grass around him stirred, sending ripples back that broke gently against her knees.

She felt pulled to him, stopping only when he had vanished back into the circle of encroaching trees. She was left in the center of the meadow, alone, ripples fading as the wind died.

Bella blinked, hands shaking, body worn and tired… but she breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with air, feeling the evening spill into her body. Her eyes closed, the moonlight warming her cold, damp skin. Her lips, iris blue, widened into an open smile.

* * *

_I said goodbye to my lion._

* * *

It was impossible to say how long she'd been standing there. She only opened her eyes when a new peace washed over her – different, yet very much the same. Sunlight painted the grass tips a warm yellow.

"Good morning."

She turned. He was as he'd been against her closed eyes, as she'd seen him while she dreamt waking all throughout the night: white wife-beater, mask of concern.

But now it made sense. He looked the way Edward had when he'd seen her in the jacket… but also the way Edward had when he'd seen her in Jacob's memory, when he'd seen her in this very same meadow. The way Emmett had as he'd watched Rosalie walk up the aisle, the way Carlisle had when he'd lowered Esme into a dip while they danced. The way they both had as they'd swayed across a carefully-lain dance floor to a music all their own, each completely unaware of yet entirely tangled in the other.

He must have felt it as it burst out of her, of her lungs and lips and eyes – as though it caused its own ripples, this intangible thing. Then his arms were around her, pulling her close until her ribs hurt, and she sighed against his chest. Bella's fingers dug into his shirt, bunching at his back, craving and carving her own place here.

Invisible violins echoed through the trees, the wind twisting into the familiar, deep thrum of guitar strings... and they moved, his hand around her waist, hers around his neck.

Her eyes closed, ear pressed to his silent heart and beating breath. Her body rocked, lungs stuttering... Her cheeks grew wet.

It was raining.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
